Saved
by BelovedMaeve
Summary: The curse was enacted four years after Emma's birth. She and Pinocchio are exiled to a new land where they must learn to survive and prepare to break the curse. With memories of her parents, Emma is determined to find them. Rated T - eventually.
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

They hadn't forgotten about the Queen's threat. They knew she was looking for a curse, but after the Huntsman had killed her father, they thought they were safe. Or, at least as safe as they could be. But she must have found a way. The purple clouds were rolling towards the castle and soldiers' swords clanged. The sounds of yells and cries of pain reverberated in the castle. David watched as Snow loosed arrow after arrow towards their enemies. She nodded to him as he crossed the Great Hall and rushed upstairs to the nursery. His wife disappeared from his sight and he made a strangled noise that was her name, but continued his forward momentum. Half-way through the halls the enemy seemed to realize who he was. Beset by over twenty men, his momentum was severely compromised. He used his sword to make precise and deadly blows. As he began to thin the crowd, he felt blood dripping in his armor and onto the floor. His steps were staggered. He knocked a code on the nursery door.

Pinocchio, eyes wide opened the door. A sword was clenched in his hand. "The Queen?" he whispered.

David touched his head and moved past him silently. His eyes were on his daughter. She threw herself into his arms.

"Papa", she whimpered. "You're hurt!" She sobbed into his chest, clutching him and her blanket like someone drowning.

"Oh, Emma", David murmured. "My own, precious, girl". He kissed her forehead, her hands…her hair. Awkwardly he moved her towards the wardrobe. He put her on the floor, looked in her eyes. Blue. A match for his. They were magnified by her tears.

"Papa", she said again. "Where's Mama?"

David flinched, breathed through the pain. "Emma I need you to be very brave. We told you before you might have to go away. The Evil Queen has broken into the castle. You must go". He waved Pinocchio towards him. "Pinocchio will go with you. You must help one another".

"Your Majesty", Pinocchio stammered. "Aren't you going with her…or...the… Queen?" He faltered… "That's what my…"

"No Pinocchio", David focused on the boy. "You must go with the princess. You must take care of her."

Pinocchio's eyes flashed to the growing pool of blood, and the paleness of his King's skin. "Yes, your Majesty", it was whispered.

David touched the boy's face. "Your papa would be proud of you. And your King and Queen are indebted to you".

Tears spilled over Pinocchio's cheeks and he turned his head. Hesitantly, he opened the door to the wardrobe and climbed in.

Emma watched silently, her face a picture of anguish. "No Papa", she said steadily. "I'm staying with you and Mama".

He cupped her face in his hands, memorizing. "You shall do what we wish. Know that we love you, more than anything else. Be brave, be strong", he kissed her forehead. "Find us, baby". His words came slower and he could feel the edges of his vision darkening.

Her face crumbled and she clung to him. "Papa", it was a plea. He untwined her arms and placed her gently into the wardrobe.

Pinocchio immediately wrapped his arms around her as the sobs turned to screams and the clinging became rage.

"Good-bye Emma", he whispered as he closed the door. The blackness finally took him, and the King slipped to the ground.

He didn't hear as Snow was dragged into the nursery, bloody and upon seeing him, screaming. He didn't feel her touch his face and kiss him. He didn't hear the Queen's men smash open the wardrobe with axes, uncaring if his daughter were there. He was unable to see Snow's smile, shaky but defiant as she declared clearly "you will lose". And he definitely did not feel the curse hit, as it tore him away from everything he loved.


	2. Chapter 1: Ingress

**_Ch. 1: Ingress_**

The tree seemed to explode around them. Pinocchio joined Emma's howls, although his were of fear. He felt her trembling in his arms. After some time, Pinocchio felt his heart beating slower and the butterfly pulse of the little girl slow as well. They began to straighten slightly and look around. Sawdust fell from their clothes and hair.

"Where are we?" Emma asked. The air smelled peculiar and these woods definitely weren't the Enchanted Forest. She had travelled them enough with her parents to know that. Tears renewed their tracks down her face as she twisted to look at Pinocchio. "What will happen to my parents, what will the curse do to them?" her voice was choked off as she sobbed.

Pinocchio stroked her arm, unable to say a single, comforting thing. Panic was returning, but in a different way from when King David burst through the nursery door. Questions crowded his mind making him feel both dizzy and nauseous.

Emma's sobs quieted and she lay against him, wan and tired. "What are we going to do, Pinocchio?" she asked quietly.

Pinocchio took a deep breath. "Let's try standing," he said firmly.

Emma stared at him, too distraught to smile but the grimness on her face lessened. "I know how to do that".

Pinocchio gave her a faint smile and scooted out of the broken tree and onto the ground. He held a hand out to the little girl.

Emma stood and brushed the dust off the rough-hewn pants she wore. Her blanket hung lankly in one hand. She went to the edge of the opening, then jumped, landing in the dirt next to him. Without hesitation, she took his hand. "What next?"

Pinocchio turned in a circle uncertainly. It was heading towards sunset, nightfall would come soon. "Which way should we go?"

Emma looked around as well. Her parents had taken her out often to show her their kingdom. The woods around the castle were one of their favorite places to go. Emma loved to listen to her mother explain how she lived in the woods a-long-time-ago. She even taught Emma what to do if she were lost. "We need to find water, that's really important."

"Yes. Downhill, right?"

"Downhill is one way, or…", she paused and pursed her lips. A musical trill burst out. Pinocchio tried to breath more quietly. Emma cocked her head and waited.

The children heard birds twittering around them. Emma puckered her lips and tried again. When the sound had stopped reverberating through the forest, they both looked around expectantly.

Emma scowled, "Pinocchio, they aren't answering me. They always answer."

August was troubled. Like her mother, Emma had an affinity with birds. "They must be different here," he said finally.

Emma looked at him, uncertain, then cocked her head again. "Some of them sound a little different," she admitted.

A roar erupted from the sky. Both children cringed and dropped to the ground. Pinocchio tried to cover Emma with his body.

"Is it the curse…is it the curse?" repeated Emma frantically.

"I don't know Emma."

They watched as a monstrous object travelled in the sky above them. It was gone before they could blink. Pinocchio was terrified. He could hear Emma gasping for breath. He snatched her and began running.

Emma felt branches slap her cheeks and she heard Pinocchio panting as he ran. She whimpered softly when she felt something draw blood.

They fled into the densest part of the forest. Pinocchio dropped to the ground as he and Emma nestled against a fallen log. They didn't talk, but clung to one another. Pinocchio felt Emma's breathing even out and felt her head fall heavily against his shoulder. He realized she must have fallen asleep and immediately felt the absurd desire to wake her. He didn't want to be alone in this unfamiliar world. He started to reach for her shoulder, then felt his face flush with embarrassment. He used a thumb to wipe the trace of blood off her face instead. Pinocchio wished he had water to wash her face. That thought awakened his thirst and he tried his best to disregard it. Exhausted, he put his head in his hands. He needed to think, he needed to plan. Instead, lured by the encroaching darkness, Pinocchio curled behind his small companion. Within moments he had joined her in slumber.

Piercing, bitter coldness awakened them. Emma felt her teeth chattering. "We need to get some leaves. We can sleep in them like a blanket," she managed to say. Within minutes the children gathered enough leaves to form a small pile.

Pinocchio wrapped Emma's baby blanket around her shoulders. She burrowed into the leaves like a squirrel. He made his own place in the leaves and wrapped his arms around her.

They trembled together, trying to gain more warmth. "Pinocchio?" Emma piped.

"Emma?"

"Do you think our parents are safe?" there was a thread of hope in her voice.

Pinocchio swallowed and had to clear his voice before he could speak. "Our parents are clever and brave. They will be…", his voice stopped. Viciously he forced the words out, "they will be fine".

"I wish I had said 'good-bye' to Mama," Emma mumbled.

August felt her tears wet his arm through his shirt.

"My papa was hurt badly. He had blood on him".

Pinocchio wished that Emma wasn't so perceptive, so observant. The queen always laughed and said if she wanted to know what was happening around the castle, she would ask Emma. "Your papa is very strong," he said finally. His papa wasn't as strong as the king. He was older. What if the Evil Queen knew what Gepetto had done? What if she had him killed just because he made the wardrobe? He bit his lip hard but the tears came anyway. He felt Emma's little hands pat his own and she hummed softly, trying to give him comfort. He recognized it as the little tune Snow would hum to Emma when she had been injured or was sad. Pinocchio watched his breath as he tried to calm down. He needed to be tough and to protect Emma. She was the one that who mattered.

"Pinocchio?" Emma said again.

"Yes Emma?"

"The stars aren't right."

The coldness that penetrated his body did not come from the air. He looked up, scanning the bit of sky he could see through the trees.

The constellations he spent hours gazing at from the castle's towers were not just shifted, like in different seasons, but in entirely different configurations. He felt his breath hitch. "You're right Emma", he said, trying not to let the fear in his voice show.

Emma must have heard it anyway because she cuddled closer to him. "I'm scared".

Pinocchio clutched her tightly. _Where were they_? he wondered again.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

The next day the children were roused by the same unfamiliar roar as the day before, but thankfully they didn't see the monstrous object again. Thirst and hunger overcame the fear of encountering more unfamiliar objects. The sun felt warm on their skin and the light allowed them to see their surroundings more clearly.

Pinocchio thought it was more unnerving to see how different this forest was from theirs. He saw Emma looking around with a troubled look of her own. "How do we find water, princess?" he asked, attempting to distract her.

"Go downhill, look for animal tracks, lots of insects, or mud", Emma rattled off.

"Well, let us find some water. I'm quite thirsty".

By the time they found water, Pinocchio's lips were parched and he had to carry Emma. They removed their boots and waded out partway into a river blanketed with rocks.

"Don't kick up too much dirt," said Emma, "or we're going to taste mud."

They stood ankle deep in the river and let the water pass over their toes. In moments they began scooping water into their mouths.

"Tastes good," Pinocchio mumbled after swallowing several mouthfuls.

Emma nodded, her curls wet with their repeated immersions into the stream. When they were sated they made their way back to the bank.

As they sat on the slightly muddy bank, Pinocchio spotted a small bluish berry. He picked it and crushed it in his fingers.

"Pinocchio don't!" Emma yelled.

"I'm not going to eat it Emma," he assured her. "But it might be safe." He touched the barest tip of his tongue to the fruit. Bitter. He spat immediately and washed out his mouth with water.

Emma watched him anxiously. "You shouldn't have done that," she stated firmly.

"I know, I just…"

"None of these plants are familiar Pinocchio. I don't know any of them. Not one! Mama has shown me so many but these aren't the same. We don't know what we can eat. We…" her voice had become progressively louder.

Pinocchio moved closer to the small girl. "It'll be alright Emma", he said.

"No it won't Pinocchio. It won't be _right_. Nothing _here_ is right. This isn't home. This isn't anywhere **near** home". She grabbed a rock and threw it as hard as she could. Daily bow training with her mother made her aim quite accurate, at least at short range. The rock cracked loudly against a tree and bounced to the forest floor. A hush blanketed the forest, then resumed its noise when no attack was forthcoming.

Both children stood immobile, Emma silently glaring, Pinocchio speechless. Anger momentarily spent, Emma sighed and her small shoulders slumped. She walked closer to Pinocchio reached for his hand. "We need to find food. We should follow the river."

It was well past midday when they found some kind of building. An actual building made of wood. They didn't know what it was for, or who was there but they could faintly hear people noises and other unidentifiable noises. Emma, who had been walking slightly ahead of Pinocchio, stopped and reached behind her. Pinocchio grabbed her hand again. "I don't know if this is a good idea," Emma said, her voice quavering a little.

"We have to eat. We don't know what's safe in the forest. We'll get some food, then decide what to do next," Pinocchio said reassuringly.

Still, they weren't ready to enter an unfamiliar place. They watched a few people enter and leave the building.

"They don't look evil," Emma offered. "Just peculiar."

Pinocchio thought the peculiarity might be reason enough to go in another direction. He heard Emma's stomach rumble, again. There was little choice. They could be poisoned from the forest, or they could risk the strangers. He gathered his courage. "Let's go get some food."

They stepped into the building. Their quiet entrance went unnoticed for a short span then the room began falling silent. It felt like hundreds of eyes were on them. Their hands clutched tighter. The people had strange clothes, and there were so many strange noises and colors. Pinocchio felt his throat close.

Emma's voice piped childishly beside him, using the clear, steady voice she had been taught at Court. "We are very hungry and would appreciate any kindness you could offer. Will you help us?"


	3. Chapter 2: Outsiders - Curiosity

**_Ch. 2 – Outsiders: Curiosity_**

"Cute kids", grunted Bill. "The girl's a cunning little thing."

"Yeah," Aaron returned. Their little town wasn't known for is burgeoning crime rate, so it left a lot of the officers enough time to clump together, drink coffee, and discuss the small interlopers that had arrived when Ted picked them up from Chantey's Lobster House.

"Did you hear their story?" asked Max. "They said an evil woman was after them. When I asked them how they got here, they couldn't say."

"Couldn't say, or wouldn't say," remarked Aaron pointedly.

"It's a little weird. Girl called herself a princess," Charlie spoke up. "Ted asked her name and she said 'Princess Emma'".

"My kid thinks she's a princess too", Bill said irritated. "We had a castle cake for her with gumdrops on the turrets. She's been carrying a scepter around since then. You got to something to say about that?"

"Keep your shirt on man, I'm not insinuating anything."

Bill mumbled something under his breath and went back to looking at the kids.

"Maybe they're part of a cult?" asked Mark with barely concealed excitement.

All of the other men groaned.

"Not that shit again."

"Oh is that what you think, genius?"

"Hey, they're out there. Were Manson, David Berg, and Jim Jones aberrations?" Mark avowed.

"Listen to him 'aberration' and everything," Charlie gave him a hard poke in the shoulder.

"Fuck you guys," said Mark with ill-humor, "what do you think it is? Kids look like they're in costumes. They didn't know what a car was when Ted put them in one, and they looked terrified of everyone and everything!"

"Yeah, what cult then, smart guy?" asked Aaron who liked to belittle Mark as often as possible.

"I don't know," said Mark, frustrated.

Max nudged Charlie "'member when he tried to arrest that poor Dabney kid? Thought he was worshipping Satan."

Charlie grinned back, eyeing Mark "aw, give the man a break, the kid _was_ wearing black."

"Yeah, a week from Halloween and the kid's not all there in the first place. Boy's so traumatized he refuses to wear costumes anymore."

The other men howled with laughter and Mark retired to his desk, coffee in one hand, scowl the size of a Buick on his face.

Sergeant Hansen chose that moment to walk out of his office. "You guys don't have worked to do?"

Bill looked past the other men to the little girl. Her face was pale in the fluorescent lighting but her hair was like spun gold. "Think the little girl would like some hot chocolate?" he asked Hansen.

Maria Gutierrez sighed as she left the children. She went to Bill's desk and leaned against it.

"So what's the verdict?" he asked her.

"Well, like you said. They seem well-fed, relatively clean, and no signs of physical abuse. They're obviously traumatized but it seems to be recent, not long term, at least from what I can see now. They're extremely polite, and they seem attached to one another. And obviously, they're lying about a lot of things."

"Ayuh. They have funny accents, don't they?" he said leaning closer to her.

"It is unusual, I can't place it. Not any American accent that I've ever heard, but then I'm no linguist." Her eyes were thoughtful.

"What else you find out?"

"They may or may not be siblings, we'll do a DNA test to confirm. It'll be easier if they're not. We won't be required to give them visitations. We need to take them to see the doctor so they can get a thorough exam. It will also confirm if there was any abuse. They seem fairly bright. Both of them can read," a little smile quirked Maria's lips.

"That little thing? She's hardly more than a baby," Bill's own kids didn't read until the first grade. He didn't figure there was any reason to rush them. They'd read when they wanted to.

"I thought she said something else and misspelled her name. She corrected me."

"Maybe she just knows her name," his kids did. Phone numbers too.

"Maybe. But from the way she was looking at the posters, she looked like she was reading them." Maria's job was to observe and she was damn good at it. The children seemed overwhelmed but their initial shock was leading to curiosity. They were obviously taking in as much information as they could.

"Interesting."

"They're completely unfamiliar with any technology. They didn't know what the computer was, they asked if we could "extinguish" some of the lights, and they didn't recognize a tape recorder, watch, or even my pen."

Bill frowned thoughtfully. "Helluva thing. You ever hear anything like that?"

"Well, we've had kids come from deprived backgrounds, or people so poor they don't have many of those things, but, a pen Bill?" That one had surprised her. They had understood that it was to write with but the act of clicking it to it's point had startled them. Through the window she saw the boy playing with it. The girl seemed far less interested.

"They say anything about their parents?" Bill wanted to find them. If they were screwing with these kids, he was going to enjoy shoving their asses in jail.

"A little, but they got closed mouthed. Kids were more open when we first started talking, and Ted said they said some stuff to him. They must have talked or something because most of the answers I've been getting were pretty vague. I think if I got Emma alone for a bit, I might get more. She's young and would have a harder time keeping secrets." Plus it would give her a chance to make sure that the boy wasn't exerting undue influence over the girl. Maybe even abusing her. The girl didn't seem to be scared of him but you could never be completely sure.

"You want me to take the boy? Get him a soda or something?"

"Please. Keep him busy for a while. We need to find out some answers."

"It's an odd case Maria."

"Unfortunately, abandoning children is pretty common. They are unique though." She paused. "Something violent, not just scary happened to or around them Bill. The girl had blood on her clothing. They didn't seem to notice it."

Maria's eyes found the little girl's, only to find her staring back, sadness in their depths.

"We need to find out what happened, to see if they have any family worth finding."

Bill shrugged, "I'm betting the parents are idiots. Better the kids have a new chance. Start over."

"There are as many worlds as there are kinds of days, and as an opal changes its colors and its fire to match the nature of a day, so do I." (1) Maria sighed.

Bill frowned. "What?"

"It won't be easy".

"Never is, kid."

(1) John Steinbeck


	4. Chapter 3: Modernization

**_Ch. 3 - Modernization_**

_A week ago, Princess Emma had been home. She had awoke in her parents' bed, cuddled in between them. Papa had rubbed her back until she was fully awake, then tickled her cheek with one of her curls. They had both giggled when Mama swatted at them and told them to let her sleep. Papa kissed her awake instead, and Emma squirmed closer to press her forehead against her mother's. _

_Sleepy green eyes had peered at her, and her mother kissed her nose. "Good morning, darling."_

_"Good morning Mama," Emma said, returning the kiss. She slid off the bed to where breakfast was waiting, letting her parents kiss some more. The low rumble of their voices was familiar and soothing. She smelled cinnamon rolls and hot cocoa. Her favorite breakfast. She took her mug of hot cocoa over to the hearth and placed it on the stones. Then she went back to the table and slipped one of the Emma-sized cinnamon rolls onto a plate. She looked at her parents. Still kissing. She grabbed another cinnamon roll. They could be awhile._

This world was very peculiar, Emma had decided. It smelled peculiar. The people dressed in a peculiar way, she couldn't even count the number of peculiar objects she had come across. Machines. That's what some of them were called. But then they had individual names too. Radios, cars, airplanes, TVs. The other kids in the home had been particularly eager to show them that machine. Emma didn't like it. It made her head hurt. Plus, it was a little frightening. How did the people get into the box? And how did the other kids seem to know who they were?

Pinocchio didn't like it either. He said it made his eyes and his head ache. Emma was bothered further by how they were being made to change. Instead of dresses or trousers, she was wearing something called overalls. The animals weren't talking to her. She had to share a bedroom. Worse was how Pinocchio changed his name. Pinocchio said she couldn't call him by his name anymore.

When they had been at The Station, Emma had called his name to show him a strange box. Maria, the lady with nice brown eyes and lots of questions, had frowned hard and looked at him. "Pinocchio, like the story?"

"The story?" Pinocchio asked.

"Little wooden boy, lies a lot…that story?"

Pinocchio had blanched down to his last freckle. They knew about him? They even knew he lied? For a moment he was too scared to speak. Then, hoping the Blue Fairy would forgive this one lie, he chuckled dryly. "Oh, she just calls me that. I have been known to lie at times. She thinks it's amusing."

Maria smiled kindly back at him. "What _is_ you name, honey?"

"August," he said with bare hesitation, thinking of earlier.

When they had explained themselves to the adults at the restaurant, they had been ushered over to a special table, a booth, the servant girl called it. Below the plates was parchment. When Pinocchio looked at it closely, he saw it was a map. He slipped it in his pocket, hoping that it was of this new land. Periodically, he had been taking it out and looking at it. He could read most of it, although the spelling was different than what he was accustomed.

One of the place names seemed to roll off his tongue. "My name is August Booth."

Emma thought the name was both strange and stupid. When Maria left, she kicked him. "That isn't your name," Emma said, more upset about that than riding in the scary, magic carriage.

"I know that Emma, but it's not right. Not here. Didn't you see that? August it what you will call me now," Pinocchio said firmly. He didn't want anybody looking at him the way Maria looked at him when he said his true name.

"I'm not changing my name," Emma's fists were clenched like she were going to hit him. "My mama and papa gave me this name. It's _mine_."

"You don't have to Emmy," Pinocchio said gently. "Emma is a normal name here."

She calmed down, but for a while she looked at him with the faintest hint of betrayal. Stubborn, like her parents, this seemed like feeble acquiescence, something that wasn't in her personality. He had dropped a little in her estimation, and it hurt.

"However," he ventured softly after a moment of silence, "I think you need another name, after Emma."

She looked at him suspiciously, "why?"

"Everyone here has two names. Maria Gutierrez. Ted Ramsey. Susan Night."

"Ye-es," she agreed reluctantly.

"You can choose something you like. Like an animal or something."

She brightened immediately. "Unicorns," said Emma. "My name can be Emma Unicorn."

Pinocchio grimaced, "I don't think that's going to work," he said. "It sounds strange."

"You said to pick something that I liked," said Emma. "I like unicorns."

_Nearly twenty days before the curse hit, Emma's mother had taken her to see her first unicorn. The morning of their adventure, she had been nearly transported by bliss. Emma danced around her room, while her mother tried to finish dressing her._

_Papa sauntered into her room and laughed when Emma tore away from her mother to jump into his arms. "I'm going to see unicorns today!" she screamed in delight. _

_"Not unless you get dressed," said her mother with exasperation. "Let me finish buttoning you up."_

_Obediently she walked over to her mother and turned around so she could finish fastening her dress. Emma craned her neck to look at her father. "You cannot come Papa," she said firmly. "Unicorns don't like males."_

_"Oh I don't know about that," he said making silly faces at her. "They haven't met me yet. I think they would find me quite charming."_

_Emma could hear her mother giggling behind her. "No papa. You cannot," she repeated gravely._

_He pulled a sad face and shook his head. "You are right, baby. No papas allowed. This is strictly a female endeavor. I'll have to go play with the dwarves instead."_

_Emma felt Mama give her a gentle pat and she ran over to her father and flung herself into his arms again. "I wish you could see them. Auntie Red says they are the most beautiful creatures in the Enchanted Forest."_

_He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling in delight. "Emma, I have you and your mother. Everything else pales in comparison."_

Emma forcibly turned from her memories. Her chest hurt a little and her eyes were glassy.

Pinocchio patted her hand gently, bringing her back to the present. "What about 'Swan'?" he asked.

Instead of crying, Emma laughed. When she was nearly three, she and her mother had nursed a nest of swan eggs. When the babies hatched, they imprinted on the toddler Emma. Until they were big enough to leave home, they followed Emma around the castle. The inhabitants of the castle didn't know whether to be irritated or amused. Often it was a combination of both. Her papa, did not have divided feelings about the swans. He hated them. They squawked and nipped at him when he tried to carry Emma away. In return he threatened to cook them for dinner. No one was happier then he when they left.

She giggled again. "Emma Swan," she said trying it out. "I like it."

Pinocchio felt like most of the time he was walking around like someone under a spell. Go here, go there. Visit this person, talk to that person. He gave up trying not to lie, instead trying to keep the lies simple and memorable. He taught them to Emma. There were hundreds of rules. Where they could sleep, when they could eat, what they could wear, when they could play, whether or not they could relieve themselves. Some of the rules made sense, but others were completely baffling.

Emma hadn't reacted well to the arbitrary restrictions and had at least one tantrum a day. Pinocchio was lost on how to help her. At home she was so happy. She wasn't prone to tantrums, even though she was indulged by nearly everyone in the castle.

Pinocchio had taken to bundling her up in his arms and taking her outside, to walk, and walk, and walk. Most of the time, they would talk about home, and what they missed. Mr. Prior and Mrs. Day had expressed their admiration of his care. Pinocchio didn't know hot to respond to the praise. It was his responsibility, bestowed on him by no one less than his king.

This had made him ripe for teasing among the other children. But this was only one of many things he and Emma were teased about. Their accents, their manner, their ignorance of most of this world's customs and devices. Both were mocked unmercifully when they met Mr. Prior and Mrs. Day. Emma had executed her best curtsy, Pinocchio a bow. The other children mimicked them until Emma took blocks and managed to hit two children on their heads. There had been blood and tears, none of which were from Emma. She had been sent to sit in a corner. This had humiliated her so mightily that she refused to eat dinner with the group.

Pinocchio brought some food to her bed. She was turned to the wall, her head covered with her blanket.

"Emma, I brought you some food."

She didn't respond to him. He touched her arm and she turned to him, the blanket slipping off. Her face was dry of tears and her eyes burned with injustice. "I hate it here. I want to leave. Now."

"We can't, not yet."

Emma grabbed the bread and flung it against the wall, glaring at him.

"Em-ma!" he said fiercely, feeling the pressure of caretaker. "Stop it!"

Her lip trembled, and her eyes fell. "I'm sorry Pinocchio," she whispered. She inched closer to him and leaned against his side. "I'm just so angry."

Pinocchio put his arm around her. "I know. But, honestly Emma, what did you think they would do after you hurt Andrew and Dylan?"

Emma shrugged, a gesture they had seen numerous times since they had arrived and since, mirrored. "I don't know. Scold me. But not in front of other people. Not to _shame_ me." She looked at him. "My parents never would have done that. Not when the other children were being cruel first."

Silently, Pinocchio agreed. "It will be different, eventually," he finally managed.

Emma sighed. She took the cheese from his hand and nibbled it while he told her a story about a mouse he found in the castle last year.

She giggled as he described the mouse's antics. When she was done drinking her milk, she looked more at peace. Abashedly she retrieved the bread from the floor and he took it to dispose of later.

"Would you like to come play?" he asked.

"With you, if you would," she responded politely. "They have these enormous puzzles. But they're made of parchment, not wood. We could try putting one together."

He nodded, pleased to see her happy. Offering his hand, he helped her off the bed. "I'll race you to the stairs," he challenged.

Throwing back her head, eyes sparkling, lips curved in a soft smile, she scampered away. Pinocchio felt a pang as he followed her. In that look he saw her parents.


	5. Chapter 4: Outsiders - Interlopers

**_Ch. 4: Outsiders – Interlopers_**

Otherworldly would best describe these children, Rebecca Allen decided. Her husband Allan said that the children were "quirky". In the first week of being in their home there had been talk of ogres, an impromptu sword fight, and Emma trying to convince them that there was an actual troll under her bed. But after these initial bumps, the children (and Rebecca and Allan) settled into a new routine. For the most part it worked. Rebecca and Allan got use to sharing their lives and the children got use to, well, life in the 20th century. Whatever their upbringing had been, it didn't include technology. But even with that, the children were extraordinarily self-sufficient.

After the first couple weeks, Rebecca was expecting some kind of trouble. She knew enough about children, people really, to know that there was a "honeymoon" period. But honestly, when you had children that responded with "yes ma'am" or "yes sir" to any direction, actually washed up for dinner (not just hands but face and combed their hair as well), who didn't argue or even whine…well, after the honeymoon period she'd expected to find an unmade bed. Crumpled towels on the bathroom floor. A response of "I'll do it in a minute" to a direction. She didn't expect to have to leave work and go to the school because her foster daughter had been in a fistfight.

It was a little unnerving enter the principal's office and see an angelic looking child sitting on a plastic chair with a scowl on her face and blood on her knuckles.

When she saw Rebecca, Emma gave her an undecipherable look. "Emma what happened?"

"I…"

At that moment the principal popped out of his office. "Mrs. Allister?" he asked.

"Yes," Rebecca unbent from her crouched position in front of Emma.

"Please come into my office. Emma, you may join us as well."

Emma stood up and smoothed out her dress. Coolly, she walked ahead of them and sat in one of the chairs placed in front of the large desk. Rebecca silently slid into the seat next to her, then moved uncomfortably. Were the seats _meant_ to be this unpleasant?

Principal Michaels sat down and straightened the papers on his desk before he cleared his voice, his gaze pinpointing the little girl. "Emma, do you want to tell Mrs. Allister what you did?"

"Do I _want_ to tell Mrs. Allister what I did?" Emma repeated uncertainly.

Rebecca was 99% sure Emma wasn't trying to be disrespectful, but Principal Michaels seemed to take it that way.

"Tell Mrs. Allister what happened at recess today," he snapped.

"I punched Anthony in the nose. Hard. There was blood", Emma sounded distinctly proud of herself.

"And are you sorry for hurting your little classmate?" the principal asked.

"Not at all. He's mean. And not that little."

The principal gave Rebecca a significant look. "You must understand that we take violence in any form, very seriously Mrs. Allister."

"Of course," Rebecca looked at Emma to try and decipher what she was thinking. "Emma, you need to behave yourself at school. You may not punch people," she said firmly.

"Even if they deserve it?" Emma seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Nobody deserves to be hit," interjected the principal with a frown on his face.

"Anthony deserved to be hit. He was picking on the little kids," Emma returned.

Rebecca wondered who that could possibly be, since Emma was one of the smallest children in the school.

"You are not in charge on Anthony. You need to leave that business to the grown-ups," the principal said.

"Adults aren't always around," Emma said with a scowl. "I was taught that it is the duty of the strong to protect the weak."

Rebecca looked closely at Emma. Her chin was set, but there were tears in her eyes.

"Fighting at school is not allowed," the principal said again. "If you fight, you will be punished. Do you understand, young lady?"

Red flooded Emma's cheeks. She looked Principal Michaels in the eye. "Yes sir." She looked at Rebecca. "I'm sorry Rebecca," she said softly.

"I accept your apology Emma. It's very important that you follow the rules at school and obey the adults. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am."

"May she go back to class?" Rebecca asked the principal.

Principal Michaels finished writing something on a piece of paper. "Yes she may. But Emma, you will spend the rest of the week in the office at recess. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Emma said again. Her voice sounded tight, different from when she had apologized to Rebecca.

Rebecca recognized the anger. She gave Emma a little squeeze on the shoulder. "Go on, honey. I'll see you after school."

Emma nodded and left the room with a slight toss of her hair.

Principal Michaels pursed his lips and glanced over at her. "Did Emma's file say much about her being violent?"

"No," Rebecca returned uncertainly. "Neither she, nor August had much of a file. I wouldn't say she's really violent though. Quick-tempered maybe."

Principal Michaels gave her a dismissive look. "We'll see. The preschool program is a choice program. If she doesn't behave, she will not be allowed to remain."

Rebecca was slightly annoyed. She stood and slung her purse over her shoulder. "Well, she is four. I don't think we can condemn her to a life of crime yet."

August's troubles with school were a bit different. He could read and write. Even his calculation skills were pretty good. But the rest of math, and much of the science, were much harder. By the third week of school it was clear from the teacher's notes and phone calls, that he was significantly behind. Rebecca and Alan could tell that he was embarrassed but they assured him they would get him some help. They hired a high school kid to tutor him, and after that, things went smoothly.

Rebecca knew things still happened at school, just like she knew there were times both August and Emma cried themselves to sleep, or had moments where they looked so pensive, they looked like miniature adults. But for the most part, the children were doing ok. In fact, as the days neared for Emma's birthday, she became brighter and happier than she had ever been.

"I'll have a party?" she asked Rebecca eagerly. "And a cake? With candles on it?"

Rebecca smiled at her brightly. "Yes, a beautiful cake honey."

"And candles?" asked Emma again.

Rebecca laughed. She'd never seen a child so focused on the cake and candles. She didn't even ask about presents, of which there were several, hidden in the back of their closet. "Candles too sweetie."

The little girl gave her a brilliant grin. "I can't wait!"

Emma didn't seem to want the other children at her party, so on the evening of her fifth year, Rebecca, Alan, and August stood around with ridiculous party hats on their heads. Rebecca noticed that August too, seemed to be more excited then usual. He rocked backwards on his heels slightly as he belted out "Happy Birthday" to Emma. When Allan brought out the birthday cake with five pink candles, both children were nearly transported with delight.

"It's here, it's here!" Emma yelled. "August, my cake is here with the _candles_!"

August nodded back, his eyes shining. He reached out and gave Emma's hand a squeeze.

"Alright sweetie. Take a deep breath and make a wish," Rebecca said, pleased that that the children were so happy.

"I know my wish," Emma said, her face etched with joy and hope. She took a deep breath, and blew out every single candle.

"Yay!" Allan and Rebecca cheered.

"Emma that was so great, you got them all!" Allan said, giving her shoulders a little squeeze.

Emma didn't seem to be listening, she was looking around, anticipation lighting her face.

"Don't worry, Emma. We'll get your presents after the cake," Rebecca said, laughing as she sliced the cake. Kids!

Emma continued scanning the room, looking a little anxious. August was also looking around, puzzled.

"Emma, what's wrong?" Allan asked.

Rebecca stopped slicing the cake to _really_ look at the children.

"My…my wish," Emma whispered. "I wished so…" She frowned. "The other kids said you can't say your wish, or it won't come true. I didn't say it. I just thought it."

Rebecca looked at her husband, troubled. "Oh, Emma honey. That's just something we do on birthdays. But that doesn't mean the wishes come true."

Tears were pooling in Emma's eyes and Rebecca saw some drifting down August's cheeks.

"But…it's magic," Emma stuttered. "The kids said it was…magic." She looked at August. He looked as bewildered as she did.

Allan touched her head. "Emma magic isn't real. It's pretend."

Tears began streaming down Emma's face. "I don't want cake. Please excuse me," her words ran together so fast, they were nearly indecipherable. She pushed her chair back from the table, and ran upstairs.

Allan and Rebecca looked at August, but he seemed to stunned to do anything. Allan nodded upstairs and Rebecca nodded back, letting her eyes slide to August. Thus assigned, Rebecca climbed upstairs with a heavy heart. Had Emma thought magic was real? Was that why she was so happy? And she must have wished for something about her old life. Her parents maybe. Rebecca felt soul-sick with grief. The poor little thing…

She walked into Emma's room and saw that the child was huddled on her bed. The sobs were muffled but so heartbroken that Rebecca felt tears come to her eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed, and tentatively stroked Emma's back. She didn't pull away but her sobs didn't lessen. After a while, the sobs became shudders.

Emma still didn't look at Rebecca. "My parents," she said mournfully, confirming Rebecca's worst fears.

Rebecca wanted to draw the child into a hug, but knew she would be rebuffed. She continued stroking Emma's back. "Honey, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know that you thought that the wish would actually come true. Sweetheart, people tried, they really did. They tried to find your parents. But they couldn't."

The shuddering stopped, and although Emma didn't face her, Rebecca could hear the steel in her voice. "Nobody has to find them. My parents will find me." Her voice became softer, "or I'll find them."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxo

It seemed like after "the birthday incident", things changed rapidly. The children lost what remained of their accents. They no longer commented on things being "strange" or "different". They remained polite, and obedient but they seemed to have a distinct agenda.

First it was going to the library. They became fanatics about the library and checked out five to ten books a week. The books covered a range of topics.

"Flora and Fauna of Maine?" Rebecca questioned when she found it on August's bedside table.

He shrugged. "We like to go outside. It's fun to figure out all the names of the stuff we see," he explained easily.

Rebecca returned the book to him, uncertain but assured herself that it was a book on _plants_, not committing crimes so there was nothing to worry about.

Then the children asked for an allowance. Apparently _everyone_ at school had one. Both Allan and Rebecca, raised to appreciate the value of a dollar, agreed that this would be a good thing for the children. Allowances were installed, based on amount of chores and ages.

Then it was picking up odd jobs in addition to an allowance. They became quite well known around the neighborhood because they were polite, hard-working, and extremely responsible. More money. But as in the case of the allowance, the children never seemed to _spend_ any of it.

"What are you saving your money for?" Rebecca asked casually one day as Emma was helping her bake cookies.

"Nothing really," Emma said. "Stuff. We want it to be good stuff though. We don't need a lot of junk," her little nose wrinkled at the thought.

Rebecca frowned, uneasy. But the kids weren't getting into trouble. They both received good grades and were well-liked by their peers, even though they spent most of their time together. She sighed and decided to let it go. They weren't really _doing_ anything. There was no need to borrow trouble.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

When Emma was six, and August was twelve, they began being invited to sleepover parties nearly every weekend. Rebecca had become pregnant, and as much as she loved the kids, it was nice to be able to relax a bit more on the weekends. The children seemed to sense this and rarely asked for the other children to be invited to their house. Rebecca and Allan approved on Emma and August's friends. They were good kids and their parents seemed responsible. After the first few months, they didn't feel the need to constantly check in, anymore.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The next summer, Rebecca, August, and Emma were delighted to learn that they were going to a summer camp for foster kids. It would last for two weeks.

Rebecca smiled as Emma packed and repacked her gear. "It's not Siberia honey," she told the excited girl. "You don't need to bring everything from your room."

Emma gave her a cheeky smile over her shoulder. Rebecca looked fondly at the little girl. Emma was still intensely private and although it seemed more like she and August were perpetual guests, they had good times. The night before they had a three-hour game night, only broken to get more snacks and check on the twins who were becoming more mobile by the day. Rebecca sighed. There was no doubt she and Allan loved the kids, they just didn't _know_ them that well. Sometimes it made her sad. But, not today.

"Have you double checked the list?" she teased.

"Only about a hundred times. Do you think we'll really be able to horseback riding?" Emma queried. She'd already confirmed it several times, but apparently that wasn't enough.

"Yup. Horseback riding is a big one. With that and the fencing lessons you begged me to take, you'll make a regular little knight!"

Emma gave her an odd smile. "Only if we stop using pretend swords," she said with exaggerated irritation.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. She had to hear about that for weeks. How those swords weren't real swords and why couldn't they use real swords, and what did they think they were trying to teach. Rebecca had finally (and firmly) suggested that Emma be quiet about it or lose the opportunity. Since 75% of the lesson payment was coming from her own pocket, Emma had quietly pouted about it to August but said no more to either Allan or Rebecca.

"Emma," she said warningly.

"I'm not saying anything," Emma said with her hands up in mock surrender. "Really."

"Alright then," laughed Rebecca.

"So the bus will pick us up tomorrow, at 6:00?" Emma queried.

"Yup. So no lazing about."

"I better give the twins two kisses tonight. Just in case they aren't up in the morning," Emma said reflectively.

Rebecca smiled. Both August and Emma were sweet with the twins, and genuinely excited for Rebecca and Allan when they were born.

The next morning after the children were gone, Rebecca sighed. She would miss them, but four kids in the house was a crowd. She couldn't wait to get things done. She heard a crash in the kitchen and Amy wailing. _Maybe not_.

Their social worker, Molly, called near the end of the week. "How are the kids?" she asked.

"I don't know," Rebecca replied as she tried to feed Mikey the creamed spinach in one hand and balance the phone in the other. "We didn't want to call and embarrass them. I'm sure their having a great time."

"What do you mean? I was checking the reports and the camp said they got a call from you, telling them that the kids were sick and couldn't attend the camp."

Rebecca missed Mikey's mouth and smeared his cheek with spinach. "That's not true. They're fine. I mean they were fine. What could have happened to them?"

"I don't know," Molly's voice was grim. "Have they seemed unhappy or anything? Any behavior that was off?"

"No, they've been fine. Happy. Enjoying the summer off. They've already won all the summer reading prizes."

"Alright. Rebecca. Don't worry. I'm going to make some calls and try to figure this out."

Rebecca listened to the dial tone, a little stunned. Mechanically she wiped Mikey's face and put him on the floor to play with his sister. Where could Emma and August be?

A day later, when the kids were due back to camp, they showed up in the bus line with the rest of the kids returning home. They were escorted from the line and delivered to the camp office. From there, Molly took them home to an incensed Allan and Rebecca.

"What were you thinking? What were you doing?" Allan yelled. His hands were clenched in agitation. "We thought you were hurt, or kidnapped, or dead!"

"We're sorry," August said softly. Emma was gazing at them with round eyes. "We didn't mean…"

"What you did or didn't mean was irrelevant," cut in Rebecca. "You scared the hell out of us. What have you been doing? Where were you?"

Emma and August traded glances. "We were just camping," Emma finally said. "We wanted to do the whole camp thing, but not with a bunch of other kids."

'That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," said Allan. "You've been talking up this camp for weeks, how excited you were…what you wanted to do!"

Rebecca eased back into her chair, realization striking her. "You lied to us," she said softly. "You've been lying to us. You've been planning this for…how long?"

Emma and August traded another look, but sat silently.

Allan looked at the children, then Rebecca. "Well?" he prompted.

Neither child answered, nor looked at him. Rebecca's heart hurt as she realized the depth of the children's isolation from them.

"You both are grounded for the rest of the summer. No playing with friends, no television, no phone. You may not leave this house unless you are with me, or Rebecca," Allan barked. "Do you understand me?"

"Yessir", murmured both children, reverting back to the terms of address they used when upset, or scared.

Rebecca tried to clear the tears from her voice. "You both need to take baths. Emma, you first. August, gather up the clothes. We need to run them through the wash. Probably twice, they're filthy."

The children nodded silently and they quietly went upstairs. When they heard both doors shut, Rebecca turned to look at her husband.

He wrapped her in his arms. "I know honey. But I think we've nipped this in the bud. They'll think twice before trying this shit again."

Rebecca nodded against his chest, but in her heart, she couldn't believe him.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The next time they disappeared, it was in the spring. Neither Allan, nor Rebecca had forgotten about the previous expedition, but it was no longer weighing on their minds. This time, the children left a note saying not to worry, that they had things they needed to do, and that they were sorry.

They were gone a month. When they returned they were grimy with sweat and dirt, and what looked like blood. They seemed weary and disheartened but not because of the worry they caused Rebecca and Allan, although they were apologetic. They accepted their punishment stoically but Rebecca felt it necessary to impress the seriousness of the situation on them.

"I know you think you are doing something…important," she held up a hand when she saw Emma open her mouth to say something. "But you have to understand, what you are doing is very dangerous. Not just because you could get hurt or kidnapped. Running away is a crime," she turned to look at August. "You're thirteen now, and that kind of thing is taken seriously. You could go to Juvenile Hall."

August paled and Emma spoke with a shaky voice, "He could go to Kid's Jail?"

Rebecca nodded. "It's not what Allan and I want. It's not what Molly wants. But it could be out of our hands. When you are missing, we have to file a police report. It would be irresponsible not to. If you keep behaving this way, you could be labeled "incorrigible" and sent away."

Emma looked at August and seemed to ignore what he was tell her. "What if it's not August's idea?" she asked.

"Emma," hissed August urgently.

Rebecca ignored him, she had figured that this was the case anyway. "It wouldn't matter. He's thirteen years old. He's the one in danger of Juvenile Hall. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

Both children nodded, then went to their rooms to catch up on homework. That night, Emma gave Rebecca an extra fierce hug, and an unaccustomed kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?" Rebecca asked, surprised by the kiss.

"You've been really nice to us. You're a good mom."

"Thank you Emma," said Rebecca, genuinely touched. She gave her a kiss, and turned out the light.

The next morning, they were gone.

Emma had left a note.

_Dear Rebecca and Allan,_

_You have been really great to us. You took us in and gave us a _

_place to live and food to eat. But what's more, you let us into your_

_family. Coming from far away, and meeting nice people… that's pretty_

_amazing. Rebecca, I meant what I said last night. You are a great mom. _

_And Allan? You're a great dad. But you aren't my mom and dad, and _

_you aren't August's mom and dad. We love you though, and hope you_

_ will be happy. We're sorry for causing trouble._

_Love,_

_Emma and August_

_P.S. Give Mikey and Amy a kiss for us. They won't remember us later,_

_But we'll remember them._

Rebecca cried quietly in her husband's arms.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Two months later the children were found. August was put in the Juvenile Detention Center for a year. Emma was put into a group home for difficult foster children. Rebecca and Allan tried to see them but were told they needed time to "settle down". Rebecca was able to talk to Emma. Although she was sad not to be with them, her tone of voice sounded different. More free. Rebecca wasn't surprised to hear from Molly two weeks later. Emma had run away from the group home. They were starting the search.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Around Christmas, Rebecca was reading a newspaper article. A three year old boy had wandered away from his family, camping in the Maine woods. He had been lost for days and the search crews were beginning to fear they would find only a body. On the fifth day he appeared at the edge of the woods, clutching a piece of bread, looking reasonably clean and unharmed. He said a blond girl had found him and had taken care of him. Rebecca clutched the article. She was sure it was Emma. But what was she doing in the deepest forests of Maine?


	6. Chapter 5: Isolation

**_Ch. 5 – Isolation_**

Leaving Rebecca and Allan had been difficult, but it was almost a relief not to have to worry about them. They had been nice, and she loved them, but they weren't her _family_.

Emma had become increasingly worried after her fifth birthday. She was discovering that her memory of her parents' faces was fuzzier and fuzzier. She woke up one day in a panic because she couldn't recall her father's exact features. She ran to a mirror. "Papa's eyes, Papa's hair," she reminded herself in a mantra. "Mama's chin, Mama's curls." It was scary she felt like she was losing them again.

Emma and Pinocchio had found out very quickly that slipping away for a weekend was not conducive to long-term search efforts. The summer camp had been their first real chance to get away. After all of their research, they felt they were ready. Four days in, they were lost and their supplies had run low. They might have been okay, but an unlikely savior named Bastian found them, and he ensured their survival. He took them to his cabin, fed them, lectured them on their stupidity, and proceeded to teach them everything he knew about survival in the woods. He knew a lot. Whenever they returned to the forest, they found themselves drawn back to his cabin again and again.

After two nights in the group home, Emma had known she wasn't going to be able to wait for Pinocchio. She gathered supplies and money for two weeks. By this time, she didn't feel a twinge of conscience when she stole from people. She felt, in fact, it was kind of a family thing. She looked for people who were arrogant, and cruel. She stole cash only, leaving trinkets or anything that might have a sentimental value behind. She didn't have the stomach to steal people's memories. Besides, she remembered all too well her parents' story of their first meeting. She didn't want someone chasing after her, on the search for their mother's ring. Even if they turned out to be both handsome and charming. At the end of two weeks, she couldn't stand being in the home any longer. She wrote a letter to Pinocchio, promised she'd call, and took off.

Like previous times, she found her feet taking her back to Bastian. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't require a long explanation about "August". He was a solitary man who didn't enjoy a great deal of conversation. The fact that he even tolerated her company was surprising.

Emma found herself quickly back into the rhythm of the forest. She felt at peace, and the closest to home she would ever be, for now. While the weather was good, she used the cabin as a home base and made ever-arching circles around it, using the search pattern she and Pinocchio had perfected. They had a sense that their families were close to this area. Unfortunately, close could still be several hundred miles in distance. That was a lot when you were eight…and on foot.

When the winter weather drove her indoors, she passed the time by reading, writing, and drawing. Bastian insisted on giving her many lessons in math and science. He seemed pleased by her abilities and would give her a rare compliment about being a "bright little thing". She was careful to listen and not disrupt his quiet way of living.

It was several months before, hesitating on every word, he told a story about a man who had accidently travelled to a new land. The man had been despondent at first, but after some time, had met a woman and fell in love. They couldn't have children, but they adopted a boy. They were happy. Time passed. The son died in a war. The woman died of cancer. The man was alone, and more than anything, he wanted to go home. A home, he told her was where the people you loved were. But if you don't have that, you want to return to where you came from. Bastian looked her in the eye then. "These woods are old. The whole area seems to be a conduit for…the unexplained. Be watchful, and I think you'll find what you are looking for."

Emma nodded uncertainly. She wanted to ask him questions, but she knew this was as much as he would give. Asking questions would only lead to him shutting down. He had given her a gift, and she didn't want him to regret it.

Before she went to sleep that night, he gently touched her head. "I may not come back sometime, but you don't worry about that. It just means that I've gone home," his voice was gruff, but kind.

She nodded. Her dreams that night were filled with a fluffy pink sky and a land with endless green oceans.

Less than three weeks after that conversation, Bastian disappeared. Emma kept an eye out for him, and always left a letter updating him on her search, but he didn't appear again. Emma hoped desperately that this meant he had finally been able to return home.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

When spring returned, Emma knew that Pinocchio would be freed soon. She was determined to have done some significant searching. She took her pack, and disappeared for days at a time. She was careful to bring enough food and to wear warm clothing. Maine springtime was capricious and sometimes included freezing weather.

On a bright day in mid-April, Emma found herself confronted by an asphalt road, where there should have been only dirt. Her pulse quickening, she followed the road. Within several hours, she stood, unblinking before a sign that said, "Welcome to Storybrooke".

"This shouldn't be here," Emma said aloud. "There's no way this should be here." She double-checked her map, just in case. Nope, definitely shouldn't be there. Pure elation pulsed through her veins. This had to be it. It was unnatural. The curse was unnatural. The thought that she might be able to see her parents that same day…breath the same air…feel their arms around her…she was split between weeping and jumping for joy.

She settled on making quick tracks to "Storybrooke". Leery of whatever tricks the Queen envisioned, Emma lurked in the trees at the edge of town. She used binoculars to spy of the various inhabitants. It was a little shabby looking. Gloomy. It lacked the brightness and vivaciousness of their kingdom. The town was also larger than she thought it would be. From her perch in a treetop she could see building after building. Finding her parents would be a little challenging, but not impossible, she assured herself.

Emma wandered the outskirts of the town, sticking close to bushes and shrubs until she found what she thought must be 'the middle of town'. The main street seemed to lead there, and there were shops lining the street. Quickly, she scooted up another tree and made herself comfortable. Using the binoculars, from her perch she watched the busy inhabitants.

She made several sweeps, looking for familiar faces. She recognized some people, but they weren't anyone she knew well, or held dear to her heart. Others were complete strangers and she couldn't help but wonder how many people the curse had affected. She sat in the tree for hours, gnawing carefully on what was left of her food. She was beginning to tire and her position in the tree was making her numb and uncomfortable. Emma closed her eyes and conjured her parents' faces in her mind's eye. They were smiling down at her, looking at her with love and affection. She felt her lips curl in a dreamy smile and in her mind, reached out to touch them. They reached out, and as they touched, Emma felt the solidity of their presence. They were there. She could feel them. They were…!

Emma's eyes shot open and she scrambled again for the binoculars that had fallen partway down the "v" of the branch. She jerked the binoculars against her face, smashing them to her eyes. Her gaze finally fell on a form that was passing on the main street. Whoever it was, they seemed to scurry back and forth like a timid little mouse in front of a devious cat. Not like anyone Emma had known. But as Emma continues to watch the figure, she matched the build and stature to the hazy memory in her mind. Tentatively, she focused the binoculars onto this figure. Muffled in a beige coat, with a haircut so severe that it seemed like a punishment, was a woman with Emma's chin and bright green eyes.

Emma lowered the binoculars, tears spilling over her cheeks. "Mama," she whispered.


	7. Chapter 6: Found

_Thank you again for the lovely reviews and follows. To the two anons to whom I could not answer personally:_

_Anon 1: Pinocchio will be making a reappearance in the future. His character is fairly different from the one portrayed in the show for two reasons: 1.) in the book of Pinocchio, he redeemed himself after 5 months of caring for his father. He made several sacrifices in which he changed from his greedy, gullible, and weak-willed puppet persona. This is more like my Pinocchio. Plus, my Pinocchio had the benefit of being reared by his father for four years, not just one (and maybe not even that). Whether he and Emma would be romantically involved…I'm not sure. My general inclination would be to say no, that they are more like siblings but I can't say for sure._

_Anon 2: Thanks! Glad you are enjoying it!_

Ch. 6: Found

Emma's heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. The surge of adrenaline she received, compelled her to run to her mother as fast as she could. She took breaths to calm herself and sharply pulled in the impulse. She needed to _think._ She needed to be _careful_. It looked like a quiet little town, but she couldn't forget that somewhere…the Evil Queen lurked. Emma scrutinized the street again. She could at least follow her mother, maybe find a quieter place to confront her.

Emma slid out of the tree and shouldered her backpack. Her weariness and hunger slid off her like a discarded blanket. Eagerly she tracked her mother, paralleling her by hiding behind the other buildings. She watched her mother hesitate, look at her wrist, then look at the grocery store, sigh, walk in.

Emma waited impatiently for her mother to reappear. Within twenty minutes, her mother reemerged, awkwardly holding two bags of groceries in her arms. Emma watched, brow furrowed, as Snow walked down the street, running into several people and tripping over an uneven part of the sidewalk. Her mother was never that clumsy. Her mother was graceful, and moved like a creature of the forest. Emma watched in dismay as a can fell, and rolled unnoticed while her mother rubbed her head in weariness. She turned into a building, shoulder slumped, and walked in. How had the Evil Queen made her mother so different?

Emma darted out to pick up the can, and followed her mother up the steps of the building. She soon realized that she was in an apartment building, and she had no idea which apartment her mother belonged in. She sighed unhappily and drew her hand across her face. She stood still, trying to figure out where her mother had gone. Her ears caught a faint noise, and she began moving down the hall, tilting her head to better hear the sound. It was humming. Her mother. She knew it. Emma got to a green door, took a breath, and knocked.

Emma felt her knees tremble as she faced her mother for the first time in five years.

The woman who opened the door looked down, confusion and other undecipherable emotions crossing her features, "H..hello?" she asked.

Emma tried to speak, but not a sound escaped. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hello?" she questioned back. She searched her mother's eyes, desperate to see recognition in their depths.

Something seemed to spark, then disappear. "Is there something you need honey?"

Unwillingly, Emma felt her eyes fill with tears. Her mother didn't know her. She didn't recognize her at all. She began backing away.

Her mother reached out to grab her wrist. "No, don't run away. What do you need?"

Emma lifted her other hand dispiritedly, showing her mother the can. "You dropped this," she whispered sadly.

"Oh," surprise crossed her mother's features. "That was very sweet of you. Thank you."

Emma nodded quietly.

Her mother didn't release her grip. "Why don't you come in?"

Emma started to shake her head.

"I have hot chocolate," her mother said with a gentle smile.

Emma brushed the tears quickly from her eyes. "Okay," she said in a small voice. "Hot chocolate sounds good."

Her mother released her and ushered her into the apartment.

Emma looked around with wide eyes. It was…it was not like home. At all. The furniture and the rest of the interior looked shabby. There were brave touches of hominess: lace curtains, flowers, a pretty tablecloth. Emma looked unhappily at her mother. This wasn't where she belonged.

Her mother bustled around, taking steaming milk from the stove and adding chocolate powder to it. Her hand reached up to pull something down from a cupboard, then hesitated. "Do you like cinnamon on your hot chocolate?"

Emma felt a tiny smile appear on her face. "Yes, I do. A lot."

Emma's mother returned her smile. She poured the hot chocolate into two mugs, and motioned Emma over to the table. Sitting down, a small frown crossed her features. "How rude of me, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Mary Margaret Blanchard. You can call me Miss Blanchard."

_'Mary Margaret?'_ Emma thought. That was like the name her mother gave Auntie Red when she was a runaway. "I'm Emma Swan," she returned quietly.

"Emma," said her mother, looking like she savored the sound. "That's a beautiful name."

Emma looked at her mother hopefully, watching that same, look of _almost-recognition_ pass over her face. But then, she took a drink of hot chocolate. Emma sighed and sat, lifting her cup of cocoa to her lips.

"I haven't see you before," her mother said. "You look a little young for my class though. Are you in Miss Anderson's class? A new student?"

Emma shook her head slowly. "My family just moved here."

Her mother looked thoughtful. "We don't…have a lot of new people come to town," she said with some interest.

"W-We've just been here a day or so," Emma said.

Her mother scrutinized her carefully. Emma tried to hold her gaze, she really did. But she wasn't good at lying to her mama. Never had been.

Her mother waited a beat, like she was telling Emma she didn't believe her. "Well, I hope you're family is happy here," she said, choosing not to confront her.

Emma looked at her, surprised. It was _so_ hard to understand. This woman _looked_ so much like her mother. But she didn't _act_ like her mother. It was confusing. It actually made her more homesick for her parents.

"I hope so. I really want my family to be happy again," said Emma honestly.

Her mother smiled encouragingly. "Sometimes it's hard, when we find ourselves in new places. We worry about fitting in, or making new friends. But those things do happen. Pretty soon, we've made a home."

Emma looked around again, noting the absence of male trappings, or even pictures of any sort of relationship. She knew in her heart, the Evil Queen would want to make her mother as miserable as possible and never would have left them together.

"Ma-Miss Blanchard, do you have any friends?"

A shadow passed over her face and her mother took a little breath. "Of course," she said, too blithely. "Everyone has friends."

Like Emma, her mother was a terrible liar. No friends and that meant no…"Do you have a boyfriend?"

At this, her mother blushed. "Not that it's any of your business, but no." She cleared her throat a little, obviously trying to regain some innate, adult authority. "Why all the questions?"

Emma didn't answer. She was too busy being heartsick about her papa. Where would he be? The last time she had seen him, he had been wounded. Terribly wounded. She felt her lips tremble. Emma felt a warm fingers reach out across the table and hold hers. The touch was nearly as familiar as her own. She couldn't stop herself, she lay her head down on the table and began to cry. It was too much. Too much to think about. Too much to feel in one tiny girl.

"Oh Emma," she heard her mother say, "honey."

Emma cried harder and tipped over her mug as she bumped into it and moved automatically into her mother's arms. She felt herself being lifted slightly, then pulled onto her mother's lap. She let herself cry for what felt like forever. After awhile she became aware of her hair being steadily stroked and the light, musical humming that had drawn her to this apartment in the first place.

A coach had once told her that people have muscle memories. That even when they forgot everything else, their muscles could remember previous motions, as long as it was deeply ingrained. As she felt her hair stroked, she relaxed. She knew that this came from her mother. Whatever state the curse had left her in, this was something that couldn't be taken away. She felt herself slipping into sleep and her last thought was _'I'll find you papa. I found mama. Now it's your turn.'_


	8. Chapter 7: Operation Cold Dish

**_Ch. 7: Operation: Cold Dish_**

Emma was wakened in the small hours of the morning. She looked around in confusion. After a muddled few seconds, the memories hit her. She uncurled herself from the couch and threw off the blankets. Her shoes were tucked neatly by the couch. She cocked her head and heard soft breathing. She tiptoed over to a corner of the main room. Her mother lay on the bed, sleeping on her side. Emma moved closer, but not so near that it would alert her mother to her presence. She studied her mother intently. The memories of her mother's countenance were no longer as hazy as they had been. Her hair was different and Emma felt a peculiar pang of sadness. They no longer matched. Her mother's hair had been as wild and tangled as Emma's own. In the morning and at night her mother would patiently brush until it was neat. When Emma complained occasionally about the laborious process, her mother would laugh and apologize for gifting her with such unruly locks. Emma had no such reservations about her mother's hair. When she was little, she'd sit in her mother's lap and stroke it as she fell asleep. Her father too, when he lay his head in her mother's lap would reach out and play with one of the wayward curls. Once, obviously feeling some of the same frustrations as Emma, she threatened to chop her own hair off when it got caught up in a bow string. Both Emma and her father had howled in dismay and made her promise not to do it. Emma wondered now if the severe cut had been her mother's choice, or another way for Regina to humiliate her.

Emma wished that she could crawl into bed with her mother, but she knew that the woman was already suspicious. She would only have more questions when she woke since obviously, no adults were razing the town in search of her. Emma knew she needed to regroup and figure out the next steps. Finding her father was a priority. She didn't feel like she could talk to Pinocchio until then. She grabbed her backpack and crept out the door. Before closing it behind her, she blew her mother a kiss. "See you soon," she whispered. And the magic of that? She would.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Emma quickly fell into a routine in Storybrooke. Each night, she would find somewhere new to sleep. She'd watch her mother as she walked to Storybrooke Elementary, making sure she was safe. It might have been wishful thinking, but it seemed to Emma that her mother's head was higher, and that she seemed to be searching the faces around her.

The rest of the day was spent in laborious search for her father. She found that when you were eight, and walking, Storybrooke was surprisingly large. After she stole a bicycle, the route got a little easier. She searched businesses and stores. Homes and apartments were harder because there were so many.

After three days, she observed many things. Some people she knew, some she didn't. She did her best to avoid everybody. There was a curious blankness in most of the townspeople. It was a lack of spark, life. Emma realized that the routine of the town was so deeply ingrained, most of them didn't even think about it. They were puppets. Regina's puppets. Emma had observed a lot of Ruby and Granny. She had wanted to see her honorary aunt and grandmother very badly, but she was afraid their latent werewolf senses would alert them to…well, she wasn't sure what, but it probably wouldn't be good. Instead she watched them as they fought about the day's menu, fought about Red's car(according to Granny it was a "walking advertisement for sex"), fought about the clothes Red was wearing (also a walking advertisement to sex), fought about the men Ruby was seeing (the actual…well Emma tried to avoid hearing that conversation). There was a lot of fighting. Emma scowled in dismay. It wasn't fair. Regina made them pretty much hate each other and that wasn't true at all. Red loved her Granny. And Granny was fierce and intimidating but she loved Red with her whole heart. It was mean, Emma decided. Cruel. Just like the Queen. One day, when she watched the Evil Queen (disguised in power suits and high heels) sashay into Granny's and gloat over the increasingly loud argument, she had smirked. Emma saw red for a moment and threw a rock as hard as possible at the windshield of the fancy car Regina drove. It made a glorious cracking noise and an indention the size of her fist.

Emma couldn't restrain as gasp as she realized what she had done. She ducked lower into the shadows of a building as Regina dashed out, red-faced but controlled. As Emma watched her fume and glare at the occasional passer-by, she felt her lips curl into a grin. Regina couldn't fix it. She couldn't use magic. There _was _no magic here. The Evil Queen was powerless. Emma's grin widened into a smile of satisfaction. She could get some payback.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

One day after the rock incident, Emma was involved deeply in "Operation: Cold Dish". She thought it was going pretty well. She still spent most of her time looking for her father, but she also spared some time to annoy Regina. She even found some kids to help. She had met Ava and Nicholas when she had been searching for a new place to sleep. She thought she had found an abandoned house, but had found them instead. After about an hour's conversation, they had allied with one another.

"She's the actual mayor!?" Emma asked. "She's too mean to be the mayor. She doesn't have any sort of people skills."

Ava shrugged. "She's been the mayor for a long time." She had a far-off look. "She's been mayor since we were little kids. Ever since we could remember."

Nicholas nodded warily. "She doesn't like us. Once she caught us and tried to lock us up. We only got away 'cause the sheriff let us go. I mean, he left the key where we could reach it."

"Now we stay far away from her," said Ava solemnly.

"What if I had an idea to get back at her?" Emma asked.

Nicholas gave a little sniff of scorn. "You're just a little kid. What could you do?"

"I can do lots," said Emma coolly. "But all three of us could do a lot more."

Ava flashed her brother a warning look. "That's not a good idea, Emma."

"Look," said Emma persuasively, "she's mean, she tried to lock you guys up. Wouldn't you like to get some revenge for that? Besides…" here Emma removed a wad of cash from her backpack along with several candy bars. "I'm a better thief then you are. And I'll give you more if you'll help me."

Emma looked at them expectantly. The idea of having allies was exciting, and it was good having people who knew the town and its residents better.

Ava reached over and fingered the cash, she barely glanced at her brother who was eagerly nodding. "Okay," she said reluctantly. "But nothing dangerous, where we could get caught or something."

"Sure," said Emma casually, her mind already filled with plans.

It had been glorious. They had flattened Regina's tires, carved bad words into her apple tree, broken her office windows, scratched the paint off her car with keys, used a slingshot to break her porch lights…the only bad part was that they weren't always able to stay and watch her reactions. Every time Emma got away with one of these tricks, she felt more free. Regina _wasn't _strong. She _wasn't_ powerful. And this was only the beginning. Emma had plans. Annoying Regina was just the start. Emma wanted to _hurt_ her.

On the day that she searched Storybrooke Hospital for her father, Emma was frustrated. She had searched every floor, and every room. He wasn't there. More and more, Emma was getting the nagging feeling that her father was _somewhere close_. He didn't feel gone. He didn't feel dead. It was like her heart was a lighthouse, and she could feel a pull, she just couldn't figure out where it was coming from.

She was especially angry at Regina too. _She_ made everything hard. _She_ made everything terrible. Emma wanted to do something really bad, to pay her back for the frustration. Something that would make her heart hurt (if she even had one). When she remembered that Nicolas claimed he had followed the Mayor to a mausoleum, Emma knew what she wanted to do. She took several cans of spray paint to the town cemetery. She had just begun the first line with when she heard a noise behind her. She spun in terror, thinking that Reina had caught her.

"Emma Swan!"

Oh no, oh no, oh no. It was her mama.

Emma froze and the spray paint can clanged to the ground.

Her mother marched over to her, swaddled in a black coat and a pale, pink cap. "What do you think you are doing, young lady?" The woman sounded and looked so much like her mother when she was angry, that Emma could only wince in nervousness.

"I…I…", her head dropped as she rapidly tried to think of what to say. She remembered the last time she'd been caught in trouble by her mother. She had attempted to climb to the top of one the castle turrets, on a dare from some of the other castle children. She had slipped and had to cling to the stone until she was rescued by the castle guards. Her parents had been summoned from court and arrived to find her being lowered to the ground. Emma remembered the intensity of their hugs and the sharp scolding in their voices.

Her mother reached her, and tilted her head to see her face. She didn't repeat her question.

Emma felt tears well in her eyes and tried to scrub them off before they fell. She couldn't speak. She was suddenly, horribly ashamed of herself. Not for bugging Regina, she was glad about that. But she realized how childish, how petty her actions had been. Not befitting a princess, certainly not befitting her mother's daughter. If revenge were to be sought, it should be with clarity and strength. She bit her lip, wishing she didn't have to meet her mother's eyes.

Her mother made a humming sound in her throat, and transferred her grip to Emma's hand and scooped up the spray paint can with the other. "Come with me please." It wasn't a request.

Dolefully, Emma plodded beside her mother wondering what she would do, what she would say.

They walked all the way to the apartment without speaking. When they opened the door to the apartment, her mother gestured to the couch.

Emma let her knapsack fall to the floor with a clunk and dragged her feet slightly on the way. It was a strange situation, both familiar and not. Emma hadn't gotten into a lot of trouble when she was little, but she remembered always feeling upset that she had disappointed her parents. The feeling now was the same, even though this wasn't totally her mom. Just almost her mom. She sat on the couch as her mother seated herself beside her.

Emma took a breath. Her parents always told her it was best to deal with things upfront, especially if you had done something wrong. "I'm sorry Miss Blanchard." Then she stopped. She couldn't say she was sorry for what she had done. She wasn't. She couldn't say she didn't know what she was doing. She did. Finally Emma hit on a truth. "I didn't mean to disappoint you."

Her mother looked at her all gentleness with steel underneath. It was a memorable look. "You should be sorry. What you were doing, about to do, was a very unkind thing, and I don't think it was the first."

_Uh-oh._

"Mayor Mills has been to the school on several occasions, accusing the students of vandalism and assorted juvenile delinquencies. She has been…extremely unpleasant about it all."

Emma squirmed a little. She hadn't meant to bring trouble down on others, especially those that were her former subjects. "Did she…?"

"No. But it hasn't made our school a very happy one." Her mother leaned to take Emma's hands in her own. "Where are your parents Emma?"

Emma looked at her mother, dismayed. She expected to talk about her behavior. She wasn't ready to face this question. Tears formed in her eyes as where she willed them to stay.

"I haven't seen you in school. Nobody seemed to be missing a child when you slept in my house the other night. No one in town seems to know anything about a new family in town. Where is your family, Emma?"

"I'm looking for them," Emma whispered finally, staring into her mother's eyes. "They had to send me away, to keep me safe. They didn't want to, because they loved me so much. I have to find them."

"You don't know where they are?" her mother asked, voice tender.

"They're close. Very close."

Her mother closed her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was dreamy. "If you love them, and they love you, they will always find you."

"Yes," Emma whispered.

Her mother shook her head, as if trying to clear it. "You may stay here for a little while. I can help you look for your parents."

Emma felt her spirits rise. "You won't tell anyone?"

Her mother frowned slightly. "I don't think we need to advertise it. It wouldn't be a good idea," she stated hesitatingly, thinking of Regina but not able to articulate the danger she sensed.

Emma nodded eagerly.

Her mother's gaze sharpened, and her voice grew more strict. "And no more antics like today Emma. I mean it."

This time Emma nodded quickly, unwilling to anger her mother further.

Her mother stood, seeming to look around her apartment for the first time. "I suppose you can take the room upstairs. I'll sleep down here. But first, I want you to take a bath, you're filthy!"

Emma looked down at herself in surprise. She was kind of a mess. "Okay. Right now?" She couldn't believe her mother was going to let her get away with the whole paint thing. Her _mother_ mother would still be scolding her.

"Definitely," her mother said. She rose and retrieved a towel and washcloth from a closet and deposited them in Emma's arms. "You get started. I'll see if I can find something decent to fit you."

Emma trudged to the bathroom and set the water to run warm. She was sitting hip deep in the water when her mother returned, bearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"I think these will fit okay. They're a bit big but we'll use some safety pins or something." She deposited the clothing on a small stool next to the bathtub and turned to go.

Emma cleared her throat, and color slipped into her cheeks. "Could you, ummm, help me with my back…and my hair?" She hadn't had help with bathing since the Enchanted Forest. And she was certainly to old for it now. But a part of her was fighting to claim this woman as her mother.

"Okay," her mother looked surprised.

Emma tilted her hair back and let her mother's hands comb through her hair. She felt more relaxed then she had been in months, years.

_Her parents had taken bath time very seriously. Emma had never protested getting a bath, not because she minded being dirty. In fact she and dirt were intimately acquainted. But her parents made such a big deal about bath time that she could only be entertained by their antics. They would often put up a fight over whose turn it was to bathe her and whichever lucky parent it was, the other would attempt to bargain. Papa might offer to clean up the stables. Mama might offer to make Emma's favorite dessert. In the end the parent whose night it was, won the battle. Emma was always consolatory to the defeated parent "don't worry," she'd say "it will be your turn tomorrow". Her mother or father would give her a kiss and agree to wait._

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

As they ate dinner that night, Emma was amazed at how good a cook "Miss Blanchard" was. Her mother had been competent at cooking over a fire, but the castle's stoves were somewhat of a puzzle. Even when she lived with the dwarves, it was Bashful who had done the cooking.

"Unless we'd like to eat coal every night," Grumpy had murmured to Emma one time.

Emma had laughed when her mother had swatted at Grumpy, then heartily agreed.

Apparently Miss Blanchard did not have that problem. Emma even had seconds. Unfortunately during the dinner conversation, her mother informed her that she would be coming to school with her. Emma's protest that she didn't need looking after was immediately met with a steely stare and the indication that Emma's earlier transgressions were not forgotten.

"You can stay with my class for now, but if you stay longer than a week, we'll enroll you in Miss Anderson's class."

There was really only one "right" answer to this declaration and Emma's was automatic. "Yes ma'am."

Her mother smiled at her. "Cheer up. We're visiting the hospital tomorrow, so there won't even be as much schoolwork tomorrow."

Emma nodded. She didn't mind spending more time with her mother, but she was nervous about being seen it town. Completely out in the open. Then a new thought occurred to her. "Will I have to wear a uniform?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The uniform was more comfortable then she thought it would be but it gave her a strange feeling when she saw herself in the mirror.

Her mother was jetting around the apartment in controlled chaos as she finished her coffee, brushed her teeth, and plaited Emma's hair into two long braids.

"This will be a bit easier to control now," her mother said landing a fond pat on her head, "it always was."

Emma turned sharply to stare at her, but her mother hadn't even registered her own words.

The morning passed in a blur. Although the kids were a little older than she, Emma was happy to learn that she wasn't behind them in their schoolwork. She was even ahead in some places. Her mother didn't say anything, but she had a pleased smile on her face whenever she looked towards Emma.

When they got to the hospital, her mother had kids setting up banners and cards with both artistic flair and military precision. Emma wandered past beds, smiling shyly at those who met her eyes.

A gray-haired man waved her over. He was unfamiliar, but his smile was kind. Emma went to him with some trepidation.

"You were here before," he stated in a gravelly voice.

Emma shook her head vehemently.

"Yes you were. Pretty little girl like you. Hard to forget. You were looking for someone, I could tell."

Emma moved closer. "You could?"

"Sure I could. Saw it in your eyes. Who you looking for, sweetheart?"

"Doesn't matter. He isn't here."

"Ah, but he might have been. I'm a frequent flier here sweetheart. I know all of the nurses and doctors by name and I've talked to a lot of the patients. What's he look like?"  
Emma felt a small kernel of hope. "He's a tall man with blond hair and blue eyes. He's around 28. And he had a little scar on his chin. He might have been hurt really badly."

The man rubbed his lip in concentration. "Might be the young John Doe fella we had here for the longest time. Never saw his eyes but the rest of what you said fits his description."

"He's alive?" Emma whispered.

"Yeah. Unconscious though. They moved him to a convalescence home. He still needs full-time care but it was taking a lot of hospital resources to do it. Heard Dr. Whale bitching – I mean complaining about it."

Emma fisted her hands together and tried to speak without betraying a tremor. "Do you know the name of this convalescence home?"

"Sure, Echo Glen. Not more then five minutes from here, in case there's an emergency or something, you know."

Emma gripped the man's hands. "Thank you."

"Sure thing sweetie. You come back and visit again, y'here?"

Emma's smile was brilliant. "I promise." Then she turned, and ran down the hospital corridor towards her mother.


	9. Chapter 8: Broken or Bent

**_Ch. 8: Bent or Broken?_**

Emma walked back down the hospital corridor in a semi-daze, dodging the occasional doctor, nurse, or patient. As she got closer to her mother, her steps slowed. One of her earliest "court lessons" was about the importance of thinking through her decisions. She needed to plan. The Evil Queen might have spies around her father. She couldn't just run into his arms.

She paused in the doorway to look at her mother. Emma watched as she paused near one of the patients to stroke the woman's hand and bent her head to listen attentively. Did her heart know, at all, that her True Love was only blocks away? Emma knew she needed to convince her mother to see her father, but she needed to do it in a way that wouldn't invite questions or speculation. She straightened her skirt and walked sedately over to her mother.

"Emma," her mother smiled. "Did you deliver all your decorations and cards?"

"Yes," said Emma simply. "I think they were all very pleased."

"Good," her mother gave her the bright smile that warmed Emma down to her toes. Mary Margaret clapped twice sharply, and her students immediately gathered around her. "Alright children. Please gather your things, it's time we returned to school."

Murmuring quietly the children obediently followed their teacher out the door. Emma casually fell in step with her mother. "Miss Blanchard?"

"Yes, Emma?"

"I think the patients here really liked what we did today."

"I think so too," her mother's proud gaze included the other students.

"Are there other sick or hurt people we could help?" Emma asked in a casual tone.

On the other side of her mother, Janie Peterson bounced eagerly. "Oooh, are there, are there?"

Excited chatter broke out among the other children.

Emma's mother let the chatter continue around her. Finally, one of the boys tugged on her sleeve. "My grampa was at a place when he broke his hip. He had to stay there for a couple of months. There wasn't as many people there as the hospital though."

"That shouldn't matter," piped a little girl with dark braids. "Everyone needs cheering up."

There was a general agreement amongst the children.

Mary Margret glanced around at her students. Teaching compassion was not required, but she thought it was one of the most important lessons she could impart. "Do you know what that place was called, Brian?"

Brian paused, his little face scrunched in thought. "Echo something?"

Mary Margaret looked at the expectant faces. "I'll see what I can find out. We will have to work hard and make sure we get all of our lessons done though."

Eager little heads nodded as they anticipated another opportunity to leave the monotony of the classroom. Miss Blanchard was a great teacher but field trips were the best part of school. Everyone knew that.

Emma let a smile break across her face. That had been even better than she thought. She had thought she was going to have to take many more steps to lead them to Echo Glen. Either luck or magic was with her.

When they returned to the school, they began a math lesson. Emma was careful to look like she was paying attention, but she spent most of the time making notes in the composition book that her mother had provided her with earlier.

At the end of the day, Emma helped her mother straighten up the classroom. Mary Margaret graded papers in the quiet atmosphere.

Emma finished cleaning the board and cleared her throat quietly. Her mother glanced up, blinking to refocus. "Yes Emma?"

"Maybe I could look up that place in the phone book? The one Brian mentioned today?"

Her mother looked around, as if just recalling the conversation. "Oh, I suppose so honey. But we won't be going there anytime soon."

Emma felt her spirits plummet. "Why?"

"I have to talk to the facility about whether they'd allow us to visit, request permission from the principal, send field trip forms to the parents…" she looked at Emma's bemused face and amended her speech. "Grown-up matters that you shouldn't worry about."

Emma couldn't bear the thought of spending one more day away from her papa. The idea of waiting days or weeks was disheartening.

Her mother left her desk to sit beside her. "What's wrong Emma?"

Emma shrugged helplessly. There were not enough words to describe this situation. She sighed instead. "I guess it just makes me sad to think of people being alone and hurt."

Her mother curled her arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug. "You have a generous spirit sweetheart."

Emma soaked in her mother's warmth. She felt her mother patting her back gently, thoughtfully.

Mary Margaret gave a small sigh. "I suppose we could go there, talk to the director and at least discuss the possibility today."

Emma straightened up so fast she nearly knocked her mother over. "Really!?"

"Yes. _If_ you let me finish up my grading and complete the math you didn't finish this afternoon."

Emma looked at her mother in surprise, then lowered her head in embarrassment. "How did you know?"

"That you weren't paying attention? I have eyes Emma."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Her mother frowned. "It's your first day. I saw no reason to embarrass you in front of the other students."

Thus illustrating that her mother's compassion and not disappeared with her memories. Emma gave her a quick hug. "Thanks," she said simply.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Although grateful her mother had refrained mentioning her inattentiveness to the class, Emma found it extremely difficult to complete the math assignment. Her fingers tapped impatiently on the notebook and the pencil made a nervous tattoo on the table. It seemed like forever before her mother had made a few calls and finished her grading.

When her mother finally nodded towards the door, Emma nearly catapulted out of it. Mary Margaret casually reached out and grasped her hand on their walk to the extended care facility. Emma couldn't tell whether the grasp was to comfort her or keep her from running. Emma chattered to her mother about inconsequential things, trying to keep the nervousness from overwhelming her.

When they reached Echo Glen Emma felt her stomach tighten further. Her mother went into the office with the administrator, Mr. Stevens but not before giving her the strict instructions to stay in the small office area.

As soon as the door closed, Emma slipped off the couch and out the door. She gazed around the hallway. This place wasn't nearly as big as the hospital. It wouldn't take long to find her father. She glanced carefully into corners and up at the ceilings to note the absence of cameras. Relieved she skimmed the hallways at high-speed. Emma found her father on the second floor, room fifteen.

The instant she saw the outline of his features, she recognized her father. She felt her breath catch as she walked into the room, taking time to glance around cautiously. As she neared her father, her sense of caution disappeared and her emotions took over.

She reached out to gently touch her father's face, stroking the scar her mother had gifted him with on their first meeting. "Papa," she whispered, voice breaking.

Emma remembered the last time she had seen her father, the sorrow in his eyes as he kissed her good-bye, the emotion in his voice as he entreated her to find them…tears slipped from her eyes and she leaned her head against his chest. A little sob broke and she clambered into bed with him and lifted his arm so it fell heavy around her shoulders. She nestled into him, her sobs coming in small, staccato gasps. It felt like scant minutes before she heard the door open. She thrust herself from her father's side and landed hard on the floor.

"Emma?" she could hear the remonstrance in her mother's voice. "I have been looking all over for you. What are you doing?"

Emma rubbed her sleeve across her face, trying to wipe away all traces of tears.

Her mother, of course, spotted them immediately. She bent down towards her and lifted her to her feet. "Emma honey, what's wrong?"

Emma couldn't answer. Instead she wrapped her arms around her mother and buried her face in her stomach.

"Emma?" her mother entangled herself to look at her face. Her eyes flickered over to the bed and her forgotten husband.

Emma followed her gaze. "Do you know who he is?"

Her mother didn't hesitate, "no," she said with an accompanied shake of the head.

Emma couldn't help but feel disappointed. "They don't know who he is," she said rapidly, remembering the story the old man had told her. "He can't wake up. They call him John Doe."

"That's very sad Emma, but what are _you_ doing here?"

Emma pulled her over to the bed, making sure her mother's gaze fell fully on him. "Are you sure you don't know him?" her voice was laced with pleading. True love should be able to transcend the curse, shouldn't it?

Her mother paused for a moment, studying his features, a faint frown forming. Her voice sounded far away when she said "no, I don't."

Emma could feel her hopes being crushed into dust.

Her mother turned to her, took her hand, and squeezed. "We should leave Emma." She must have seen Emma's crestfallen expression because she gave her an encouraging smile. "But I have good news. Mr. Stevens says they would be delighted to have our class here."

Emma gave her a tremulous smile. "That's good. So we can come back here soon?"

"Yes."

Her mother began pulling her gently out of the room. Emma paused in the threshold of the door and looked back. Her father lay, unmoving. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine her love as an arrow, and flung it towards his heart.

When the door closed with a soft catch, John Doe's hands twitched.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxo

That night Emma had trouble sleeping. Her parents were so close. Why couldn't they feel one another? Why did her father still sleep? Love was supposed to be the greatest magic of all. Why wasn't it working?

She crept downstairs with her flashlight and rummaged around the apartment aimlessly, hoping to find something that would help her sleep. She found herself poking around in her mother's book shelves. There was a lot of children's books. Unsurprising since her mother taught young children. Fondly Emma paged through Cat in the Hat and Runaway Bunny. Emma had loved to be read to. Her parents would read her as many stories as she would ask for. Her favorite story in the Enchanted Forest was The Errant Knight. When her father read it, he used funny voices for all of the characters. To this day, Emma couldn't decide whether she had really loved the book so much, or just him. Emma poked further and found a book with a half-dressed man on the cover. Hmmm. She shoved it under some other books. No need to embarrass her mother. She reached further in and her hands grasped a large, leather-bound book. She pulled it out. "Once Upon a Time," she whispered. She opened the book to the middle and gasped. It was her parents. Clinging together in what looked like wedding finery. Rapidly she paged through the rest of the book finding numerous pictures of life and people in the Enchanted Forest. Where had it come from? Why was it here?

"Emma?"

Emma dropped the book and flashlight simultaneously.

Her mother walked over to her. "Emma, it's in the middle of the night. What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep," whispered Emma. "I thought I would read for a little bit. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Her mother lifted her to her feet gently. "Reading helps me too. What book did you find?"

Emma clutched the book to her chest. She didn't know if she wanted to show her mother the book. There was something about it…

Her mother was already reaching for it. "Looks like a good book. Would you like me to read a little to you?"

Emma nodded shyly as her mother led her back to her bed. Emma clambered in with her mother and after a hesitant few seconds, lay her head on her mother's shoulder.

"Which story should we start with?" her mother asked, paging through the book slowly. Emma felt her throat tighten and small fingers led them unerringly to the right page. "This one. The one where the princess is born."

Emma closed her eyes as she listened to her mother's voice as she read the story of her birth.

After several stories, Emma felt her head grow heavy, and she could no longer keep her eyes open. She was unaware that her mother had slowly been falling asleep as well. In her dreams, Emma thought she heard her mother speak.

"Emma. My baby."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The next morning, Emma noticed there was something different about her mother. It was in the way she moved, it was the inflection of her voice. Emma decided to take a chance. "Can we visit Mr. Doe this afternoon?"

Her mother paused in between scrambling some eggs and pouring juice. "I suppose so. Yes. We really should." She spoke in that distant way, as though she wasn't quite sure what she was saying.

Emma's hand crept over the binding of her new favorite book. "Maybe we can read to him," she suggested innocently.

Her mother smiled gently. "That sounds like a splendid idea."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

That afternoon, when they reached Echo Glen, her mother disappeared into the administrator's office perfunctorily to announce their presence and to tell him that they were "scoping the place out for decoration placement."

She popped out minutes later, wearing a smile. Today she seemed as eager as Emma to visit the stranger on the second floor.

Emma tried to clamber on the bed with her father but her mother gently removed her. "You have to be careful Emma. You don't want to hurt him."

"I won't hurt him," said Emma earnestly.

She carefully made her way to one side, and nestled next to him. She took one of his large hands in hers, tracing the lines with her fingers.

Her mother chose a more sedate position, in a chair near the bed, her knee touching Emma's.

Emma dragged the book out of her knapsack and handed it to her mother. "Find the story where Snow White and Prince Charming meet for the first time," she said, nearly bouncing in her excitement.

Her mother laughed as she saw the picture. "A rock? These aren't the fairy tales I remember."

Emma looked at her curiously and wondered what kind of cursed story-memories she had. If Regina had her way, the stories certainly would be twisted.

As her mother read the story, Emma gazed intently at her father, hoping the fierceness of her gaze would pierce the darkness he inhabited.

Without seeming to realize it, her mother lay her palm over Emma's so her hand was sandwiched in between her parents.

"…for it was here, in the shadow of the Troll Bridge that their love was born. Where they knew, no matter how they were separated, they would always…"

Emma gasped when she felt her father's hand clench within her own. She looked at her mother with delight, only to find her slumped forward, with her eyes closed.

"Mama?" whimpered Emma in fear. She looked at her father who didn't seem to wake further. "Papa?"

She tried to blink away tears as she held their hands desperately in hers. "No. You can't both leave me. You can't leave me again. Please. Please. You can't." The overwhelming dread in addition to having what she had craved for so long, from her, made logical thought impossible.

She brought their entwined hands to her mouth and kissed them. Without warning, a wave of light burst through their encircled hands, knocking Emma flat to the bed.

There was silence, and then she heard her parent's voices chime together, as if there had been no separation, no years or worlds between them. "Emma?"


	10. Chapter 9: Unification

**Ch. 9: Unification**

For the first few minutes, nobody spoke. They clung to one another in breathless wonder. Emma was squeezed between her parents, their hearts beating like the wings of captured birds. They couldn't touch one another enough. Emma felt her father' hand on her face and her mother's stroking her arm.

When they could finally bear the thought of the minutest separation, they moved apart to look at one another.

"Emma," her mother's eyes move avidly over her face, drinking in her features. "My baby." Her eyes flicker to her husband's tremulous with affection and grief.

David cuddled Emma to him, pressing his lips to her hair to kiss her. "Little girl, we've missed you so much."

Her parents hands did not stop caressing one another. David moved to kiss his wife, tenderness and need clashing.

Snow cupped his face with an unsteady hand then reached over to pull Emma into her lap. "Let me look at my baby," she murmured lovingly. She held Emma's face in both her hands and David cupped their heads in his large, warm hands. "You've gotten so big, such a big girl Emmy!" her voice broke with love and sorrow.

"You look so much like Mama," said her father lovingly, stroking her cheek with one finger. "So strong. So beautiful."

Emma gazed keenly at her parents and tried to speak. Instead, she began to cry. "Oh lovey, oh lovey," said her mother holding her tightly.

Her father winced as he tried to pull them both closer to him, weakened muscles frustrating his movements.

Snow must have sensed this because she moved even closer to him, and lay Emma between their bodies, pillowing her head on her husband's arm.

Emma's little body shuddered with sobs and she clung to her parents. Finally her voice squeaked out. "Never…leave me…again. Never. Please. Please. I missed you so much. I missed you. I missed you."

She felt her mother began to sob with her and her father's eyes were bright with tears. "We're so sorry Emma-love," her father managed. "We couldn't…it broke our hearts to send you away but we…"

Emma shook her head and gasped as she tried to speak. "I…understand. Understood. But you can't…do it again...can't! I…love…you…," overcome, she stopped trying to speak and let her mother rock her and rock her and rock her.

After some time, she didn't sleep but was in the muzzy, hazy place that happens after a hard cry. She heard her parents murmur, sometimes to her, sometimes to one another. They didn't stop holding her.

She was brought to attention when their tone of voice changed from heated whispers to something sharper.

"I can't leave Snow, my love. I'm so sorry. I'm weak. I think if I tried, I could make a furlong, but not much further," her father's voice sound shamed at this weakness.

"I understand that Charming. My gods, you've been unconscious for five years, but Emma and I can't leave you. Don't ask us to do that!" her mother's voice was full of pain.

"What other choice have we? I will stay here and get strong. You will take Emma back to your lodging and take care of her. We need to know how Emma has affected the curse and how the rest of our friends and subjects fare. We are not ready for an all-out war!" his accent tainted his speech lightly.

"We can hide," her mother's voice was stubborn. "There are woods here. I've done it before and I can do it again."

"Snow, Snow," her father's voice was both loving and exasperated. "It's unlike you to be so imprudent. What evil may lurk in the forest? What snares has Regina conjured? This is her land, her rule. Better for us to act ignorant and retain that advantage."

Her mother's voice broke. "I don't want us to be separated again. I don't want us to be apart. Not for a little while, not ever."

Emma pushed herself up to a seated position, mimicking her parents. "I don't want to leave you Papa!"

Her father reached for her and her mother lifted her onto his lap. "Emma-love, it's only for a short time. We'll act as if we are still cursed. Then when it's safe, we'll come back together." He lifted her chin to meet his eyes, gazing at her, then her mother with utter faith. "We will take back our people, and return to our kingdom."

Snow sighed and Emma leaned into her mother, unconsciously giving David an identical look.

David smiled at them fondly, then looked at his wife in wordless pleading.

Snow looked at him meaningfully, firmly, then switched her gaze to her daughter. "We will still find a way to visit Papa, and keep an eye on him. We'll just be sneaky about it."

Emma's smile matched her father's. "We have to. He'll get in all sorts of trouble without us."

David reached out to tickle her sides lightly. Both he and Snow closed their eyes when they heard their little girl's joyful giggles.

Snow sobered, then caressed her husband's cheek with her hand. "I'm afraid Mr. Stevens will come looking for us soon. It's unwise for us to be here when you waken."

David nodded, the longing palatable in his eyes. "We'll see one another soon," he reassured himself as well as his family.

Emma clung to him as he kissed her. "We'll see you soon," she repeated, trying for the same certainty.

It was Snow who calmed their fears, by leaning into him and giving him a lingering, promising kiss. "We found you," she whispered in his ear. "True Love has no limits or restrictions. We cannot ever really be apart. Be safe, sweet husband. We will see you very, very soon."

David closed his eyes, his breath coming in a relieved gasp. If Snow believed it, it would happen. All of his faith was with her.

Snow kissed him again, murmured "I love you," and took Emma's hand within her own.

Emma took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. She wanted to leave her papa with a smile, so he could recall it when he was feeling sad. "Bye, Papa. I love you."

Her father's smile broke slowly across his face, like the sun through the clouds. "I love you too Emma. Always and forever."

Emma slid her knapsack, with the storybook safely inside, across her shoulders, and followed her mother out the door.

When the door closed, David closed his eyes as his tears wet the pillow. He prayed to whomever might be listening that his family be kept safe…and returned to him soon.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

When they were at the ground floor, Emma was amazed as she watched her mother transform back to Mary Margaret (as close as her mother could approximate anyway). She greeted Mr. Stevens blandly, yet pleasantly and said they were "looking forward to working with the staff further in an effort to teach children the importance and value of compassion."

Personally, Emma thought that sounded a lot like her mama and less like the school teacher, but she refrained from mentioning this to her mother.

It was pretty obvious to both of them that Mr. Stevens was still Mr. Stevens. As they walked back home, Snow mentioned that she thought he might have been a merchant in a nearby village, but she wasn't sure.

Once they were in the apartment, Snow lost some of her self-assurance and sank onto the sofa. Emma immediately clambered on her lap.

"Are you okay Mama?" she asked patting her mother's hands nervously.

Snow gave a rather perfunctory smile. "Yes darling. I have you, don't I?"

Emma gazed at her steadily.

"I'm a little overwhelmed, that's all. There's a lot to think about and there's so many people to check on. Red…and Granny! They're, they're okay, right? Red is Ruby and Granny is…" she frowned thoughtfully, "Granny, right?"

"Mrs. Lucas," Emma supplied helpfully.

"Right. And Grumpy. Oh Grumpy. He's…" this time her mother's nose wrinkled "he's that mean-tempered drunk, isn't he? That's terrible. Poor Grumpy!"

"I didn't really see him," admitted Emma. "There's so many people here. And some of them look and act so different that it's hard to tell." She paused and looked down at her lap to trace the lines on her uniform. "I'd know Grumpy though. I miss him."

Snow immediately cuddled her. "He'll have missed you too, darling. He doted on you. As did his brothers. And Red…and Granny," she sighed a little, then visible shook herself. The look she gave her daughter was full of tenderness. "There's so many questions I have for you. So many things I want to know…"

Emma nodded happily, then her face fell a bit. "But I feel bad for Papa. I feel like I should save my stories so both of you can hear them at the same time."

Snow nodded her understanding. "I can see why you would feel that is the right thing."

Instead of breaking into conversation, they both sat quietly. By the far away look in her eyes, Emma had a feeling her mother shared her thoughts.

"Do you think they found Papa awake yet?" Emma asked.

"Probably." Her mother held her more closely.

Emma looked gravely at her mother. She needed to make her mother laugh. That would make things a little better. "At least when you see Granny, you can say you aren't breaking the Rule anymore," she said with a coaxing smile.

Snow broke out in a genuine grin. "No we aren't, you little malapert. I still cannot believe you did that to us."

_The Rule had been instituted when she was three. One day her mother had left Emma at the castle to aide her father in pursuit of some of Regina's soldiers. Possible even Regina herself. Emma was extremely unhappy at the abruptness of the departure, and outraged that both her parents had left her. _

_Grumpy, her favorite playmate and a near-constant companion, tried his best to cheer her up, but she refused to be placated. Disconsolately she wandered the castle in the pursuit of solution to this grievous injustice. She came upon Granny, who generally could be found either polishing her crossbow…or knitting. Once she found her, Emma knew she had an answer to her problem. _

_"What's wrong, little one?" Granny asked._

_Emma felt her lips form into a pout. "Mama and Papa left me. They went after the bad peoples."_

_Granny stroked her hair consolingly. _

_"They just left me!" she explained, tears forming. "What if the bad mens hurted them?" She curled into Granny's lap, not even having to feign her worry._

_"I'll take care of it sweetheart," Granny said firmly, patting her back. After feeding the tiny princess peppermints and telling her stories, Emma felt much better._

_When her parents returned from their adventure, Granny asked to speak to them before they even saw Emma. Emma, who had been trailing after Granny, waited patiently by the wooden doors. She didn't hear raised voices but that didn't mean they weren't in trouble. She folded her arms. And she didn't feel sorry for them. Not one bit. They left her. She heard Granny's raised voice through the door. They…well…maybe she felt a little sorry for them. Emma bit her lip. _

_Auntie Red appeared in the hallway. "Where are your parents?"_

_Emma pointed at the closed door. "In with Granny. They both lefted me!" she said, hoping to garner more sympathy._

_"Oh dear," said Red, a smile barely twitching at the corners of her mouth. "And they're with Granny now?"_

_"Yes," said Emma nodding her head emphatically. She was appeased when her aunt came to pick her up. She buried her face into the familiar red cloak._

_When her parents emerged from the room, Snow's cheeks were faintly flushed and her father wore a look of consternation. _

_Red chuckled low in her throat. "The two of you are in trouble."_

_Emma's parents managed to give her looks that were simultaneously irritated and embarrassed, softening when they looked at their daughter._

_Emma lifted her head from Red's shoulder. She put her little hands on her hips and glared, her lower lip forming a pout. "You frightened me!" she declared, looking petulant but distress lacing her words. Her parents gently took her from Red and covered her in kisses._

_"Emma-love, we didn't mean to frighten you," said her papa._

_"We're sorry darling, truly," said her mother. _

_Emma couldn't retain her anger at them, instead she buried herself into their arms. _

_"It will not happen again," said her father. "Granny…reminded us that you should always have one of us near you."_

_"For many reasons," muttered Red clearly, raising her brow significantly. Snow's blush darkened._

_"Good," said Emma. "I knew Granny would say the right words." _

_"Did you…" David cleared his throat incredulously. "Did you…tell on us?"_

_"Yes," declared Emma simply. As she went to thank Granny, she heard Auntie Red laughing._

Emma giggled, happy to see her mother smile. "I _was_ worried. I wasn't trying to be a brat," she assured her mother.

"We knew that darling. Your papa and I were trying to be too many things to too many people. But our role as your parents is the most cherished."

Emma nodded, feeling a bit shy at the pride and love she heard in her mother's voice. She let herself relax in her mother's arms.

"Emma. I know you don't want Papa to feel left out, but I need to know more about how you got here. And I…I need to know that you are…undamaged from your ordeals."

Emma knew her mother was trying to be delicate, but she could feel her mother's anxiety in the tension of her arms. She thought carefully. She couldn't not talk to her mother. There were too many things that needed to be said. Her father would understand. "I know what to tell you. It's probably going to be a long story though."

Her mother nodded and gave her another squeeze. "I know. How about I make us some hot chocolate?"

Emma smiled, "that sounds perfect."

Author's Notes: I know that Granny taking "the royals" to task is unusual, but so was Queen Eva's canon response to Johanna. Since David and Snow were orphans when they took over the kingdom, I decided they needed Granny to act as their de-facto parent once and awhile.


	11. Chapter 10: The Beginning

_Author's Note: Well folks, this is not the story I began. That doesn't mean I'm not pleased. My original story sent Emma through the Wardrobe at four, alone but armed with memories of home, parents, and the knowledge of being loved. I wondered how much memory a small child could retain, without the assistance of photographs and people that could tell her about her family. I also intended that Emma would break the curse at the intended age. I may still write that story. At this time I found I was not ready to do that to Emma. I needed to give her, her childhood back. In the end, this story was always going to be about the reunification of the family. As I neared, then passed that, I started thinking about the aftereffects of fracturing the curse. I realized that I have several possibilities in curse- breaking, especially after some discussion on the TWoP forum. I need to map that out and decide, before I begin the next part of this story. Without cohesiveness and cogency, the purposefulness of the story is diminished. Long story short, this is the end for now. There's another story I have had on the backburner for a year, so I want to finish that before revisiting this one. Thanks again for the awesome reviews and for those who chose to follow the story._

**Ch. 10: The Beginning**

It had been a week since her Papa had been awakened. The day after, Emma and her mother had sent a postcard to Pinocchio by carrier pigeon. It gave him the coordinates to the town and a simple message. _Come home_. If Emma's calculations were correct, and the detention center competent, Pinocchio would arrive in Storybrooke in a week or less. Emma couldn't wait to see her old friend.

To Emma and Snow's delight, David had 'discovered' two part-time jobs. One was at the Storybrooke Animal Shelter. The other was as a teaching assistant at Storybrooke Elementary. To Snow's consternation, he had also ended up with a wife. It wasn't her.

"What?!" Snow whispered, her voice hissing dangerously.

David smiled weakly, looking around the playground as the children around them played raucously. "I know you heard me, darling. Must you express your incredulity so decisively?"

Snow looked around shiftily, gaze lighting on Emma who was decorating another little girl with flowers. A smile broke her solemn mien and she sighed a little. "Okay. I'm listening."

David shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you remember Abigail…" he trailed off when he saw Snow's expression. "You _like_ Abigail. She's been a good friend to us!" he exclaimed.

Snow pulled impatiently on her sweater, pulling it around her protectively. "I _know_ she's a friend of ours, and I _do_ like her. I just don't want her…she just…I mean, she almost married you once!"

David brushed her hand with his thumb, wishing he could hold it, give her reassurance. "I know. But, she became our friend. She was absolutely essential to our defeat of King George."

"I know," Snow was proud that her voice betrayed no sulkiness. She felt sulky.

David longed to kiss away her frown, a little pleased by her jealousy. "If it helps, I think she feels as awkward as I do, and she supposedly has memories of us."

Snow breathed deeply. She did like Abigail. She was a strong woman, and once you got past the hard exterior, she was both warm and quite amusing. Unfortunately… "Kathryn isn't Abigail, David. I'm friends with Abigail, and I trust Abigail. I don't know Kathryn."

"She's kind," David fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. "She really does seem to care about me." He didn't mention the scene at Echo Glen where Abigail…Kathryn had clung to him, tears of joy in her eyes, while Regina had looked on and smirked. It had made him furious, that Regina manipulated a good friend of his into a marriage that she would have despised as much as he did. It was a marriage that echoed a terrible time in both of their lives. He had only been able to put his arms around her shaking shoulders when he thought of his wife and daughter.

Snow looked at him, knowing there was more to the story. She bit her lip and spoke softly. "It's a terrible thing for her too. You haven't met him yet, but Frederick is the P.E. teacher at the school. He's not the same at all. He's an arrogant, misogynistic bastard whose not above making the children cry if he doesn't think they're working hard enough." Her hands clenched as she remembered coming to pick up her class one day and finding one of her chubby little fourth graders in tears of shame. He hadn't been able to do pull-ups, she remembered, and Jim had apparently humiliated him for it in front of the entire class. Mary Margaret had been angry, but too intimidated to say anything.

David saw the shadows cross her face, and tried to move closer.

"David," her voice was low but definite.

He backed off immediately, his eyes scanning the playground and beyond. "I know," he murmured, voice tinged with frustration.

Snow breathed quietly, raising her eyes to meet his. "We have so much to do. Rumpelstiltskin said Emma would break the curse when she turned twenty-eight, but it feels…it feels like it could be sooner."

David nodded. "I know. I've been wondering if he made a mistake. That could be possible. He's not infallible," his tone was slightly questioning.

Snow shrugged uncertainly. "I don't know. It's not like we can ask him. But we know that Emma broke the curse for us. That means it could be broken for others."

David's eyes fell again on his daughter, as they had every few minutes since recess had begun. He smiled easily. "She's amazing."

Snow grinned indulgently. When their daughter was around their eyes followed her like iron filings to a magnet.

"Is she still sleeping with you at night?" his voice was filled with longing.

She nodded. She had shared every scrap of information with him, more than once, knowing his hunger for hearing about their daughter was as insatiable as her own. Five years was too long to be without your child.

He smiled, "I'm so glad. It must bring you comfort when you wake, knowing it isn't all a dream."

Snow smiled sadly at him. He had shared this fear with her earlier. His sleep was often broken and waking brought him little comfort. "Emma and I made something for you." She had been waiting for this opportunity. She drew a bracelet out of her pocket. It was a simple leather band, entwined with their tightly braided hair.

David tenderly stroked the bracelet, his eyes filling.

Snow's gaze was as intimate as an embrace. "To keep the nightmares away," she murmured.

Pinocchio arrived without fanfare. Four days after Snow had gifted her husband with the bracelet, Emma and her mother were playing a lethal game of cards. Mary Margaret had been isolated from her peers and even casual acquaintances. Most of the card playing she practiced was Solitaire. But Snow was shrewd and a quick learner. It didn't take long for her to give Emma real competition. Snow had also found that playing games with Emma often distracted her enough that she wouldn't censor herself when speaking of her life in this world. Snow knew that Emma was trying to spare her, but that was unacceptable. She was the mother. It was _her_ job to protect her daughter.

The quiet knock made both of them pause, mid-giggle as Emma demolished her mother in a particularly elegantly played game of _Go Fish_. Emma immediately ran soundlessly to hide under Snow's bed. They had been very careful to keep all evidence of Emma's habitation hidden.

Snow walked sedately to the door to open it. The startled blue eyes of a formerly wooden boy met hers for a moment, then he sank into a formal bow. "Your Majesty," he said.

She looked at him, somewhat taken aback at his transformation. He had been a skinny eleven year old before the curse. She had know he would be sixteen, but her inner visual had not conjured the near-man before her. "Pinocchio," she reached out to embrace him, and pull him into the apartment, closing the door with her foot.

She felt him duck shyly at her shoulder. He was taller then she, but his cheek briefly brushed hers. "Thank you," she murmured.

Emma's whispered shriek of delight broke their embrace. "Pinocchio!"

Pinocchio looked up, a brilliant smile breaking over his face. "Em!"

Emma ran to him and threw herself into his arms. She giggled as he held her, spun her in a tight circle, then released her. "I missed you so much!" she said, eyes tracking urgently over his body. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar," she scowled at him. "I know when you're lying."

"It wasn't great," he admitted. "It was hard being locked up. But they let me read and some of the C.O.s were really nice to me," he looked at her seriously. "The best part was knowing you were out here. Free and looking for our families."

Emma leaned forward to give him another squeeze. "I was worried."

"You did it thought Emma. You found them."

Emma nodded, looking up at her mother, a smile breaking through. "Yeah."

"I want to hear about everything," Pinocchio looked eagerly at Emma. "But first…" his gaze switched to Snow, imploring, "May I see my Papa?"

Snow's gaze was kind and she rubbed her hand reassuringly across his arm. "Of course you can see him. But I don't know that the curse will fracture the way it did for David and I." She knew it wouldn't actually, but didn't want to be so blunt.

The eagerness in his eyes died and little, but he nodded firmly. "I would still like to see him. I just want to see that he's okay."

Snow's lips compressed and she choked back her initial reaction. Gepetto wasn't _okay_. He was cursed. He wasn't maimed or torturously wounded, but he wasn't _okay_. She offered a thin-lipped smile instead. "Of course," she said.

Emma's little hands knotted themselves in her shirt and she looked between her friend and her mother. "So we're going to see Gepetto?"

Snow kissed her daughter's head, and reached up to touch Pinocchio's cheek, "we're going to see Gepetto."

Marco was not well known to Mary Margaret. He did not have a child in the school, and they were not friends. He had, however, repaired a chair of hers that had become damaged. She knew he did some of his work at home. Since it was evening, they figured this was most likely where he would be.

Hidden behind another house, they watched as Marco industriously bent over a wooden clock, hand hidden within it's recesses.

Emma looked at her friend worriedly. She knew that Pinocchio would be hurt when his father didn't recognize him, but she knew his desperation to see his father was strong. She had talked to him – oh so many nights – about what it would be like when they saw their parents. What they would do, what they would say. She couldn't deny him this, no matter the bitter sweetness of the reunion.

Pinocchio looked on eagerly. "I remember that clock! It was one of the last projects Papa and I worked on."

Marco tugged on something in an irritated fashion, mumbling in Italian.

Pinocchio frowned. "He's doing it wrong. He's going to break the gears if he keeps pulling like that."

Snow looked around, noting the absence of people. She shoved Pinocchio in the small of his back. "Go help him then."

Pinocchio balked, looking at her with wide eyes - looking much younger than his sixteen years. "But what if he…what if I…we could…?" he stumbled over his words desperately.

Snow gently but firmly took his chin in her hand. "Go see your Papa," she commanded tenderly.

Pinocchio's smile was small and he took a deep breath. The fear immobilizing his body was only overcome by the longing in his heart. He stepped out of the darkness.

Emma and Snow observed Pinocchio's faltering conversation with Marco. Snow noticed his hurt as he absorbed the ignorance in his fathers' eyes. Her heart ached, remembering the same look on her daughter's face when Mary-Margaret…when she had met her at the door with utter indifference. She stroked her daughter's head, trying to convey her overwhelming love.

Emma tilted her head and smiled, looking obliquely at her mother. She reached out for her hand and clasped it firmly.

They watched the woodcarver and his son. "Look Mama," whispered Emma, pointing with one, small finger.

Marco handed Pinocchio a pair of gloves and a small pointed tool. The smile that lit the boy's face chased away his earlier melancholy expression. Marco's answering grin was tentative, but had a touch of wonderment. Snow knew he felt drawn to the boy, without knowing why. She smiled. The pull of parent and child was strong. It might not be immune from the curse, but emptiness had a way of trying to fill the vacuum.

"I guess Pinocchio will be busy for a little while," Emma said.

"I think you're right."

Trying to get both children to bed that night was a chore. Pinocchio had replayed his conversation with Marco nearly verbatim. Then he told them in detail how they had rebuilt the clock. After that he peppered them with questions about plans to break the curse. Emma matched him word for word, winding her up as thoroughly as a gallon of sugared beverages.

Snow groaned as she looked at the clock. "You both need to get to bed. It's nearly midnight! And you've been travelling all day Pinocchio."

Pinocchio gave her a guilty look and began to stand. Emma pulled him back down. "But Mama, we're making battle plans. This is important!"

"So is sleep," sighed Snow. She picked up her truculent daughter. "Time for bed."

Emma struggled a little, but was interrupted by a mighty yawn. Snow dumped her onto their bed, and pointed upstairs to Pinocchio, along with a meaningful look. "Bed."

Pinocchio nodded and scrambled up the stairs. His voice floated to them. "Night Em. Goodnight, Your Majesty."

"Goodnight Pinocchio," Snow replied.

Emma mumbled something that sounded like 'goodnight' as she buried her face into her pillow.

Snow glided over to the bed to fix the pillow and smooth out the covers. She kissed her daughter's cheek. "Goodnight, baby."

She crept out the window to the fire escape landing, hesitating a little before warbling out a short bird call. She scribbled out a short note while she waited.

After another call, a mottled gray and white dove appeared. He whistled in what seemed a reproachful manner.

"I know, it's late for you too. But this is important." She tied the note expertly around his leg. "Take this to David. Tap at the window, if you must. He will hear you."

The dove chirped a reply.

"Yes. Thank you." Snow stroked it's smooth back before it flew away. She watched the bird until it disappeared, then was left gazing at the unfamiliarity of the familiar stars.

When David met the little group at the Troll Bridge the next evening, he looked like he had had as little sleep as Snow. After hugging his daughter and wife, he turned to Pinocchio.

As he did yesterday, Pinocchio bowed deeply. "Your Majesty."

David reached out to grasp the boy's hand firmly, laying his other hand on top of them both. "Thank you, Pinocchio." He said no more than that. The look in his eyes, as he contemplated his daughter, told him exactly the depth of his gratitude.

Pinocchio ducked his head. His childish awe of his King had not diminished, although he realized now that they were only a little over a decade apart in age. "Your welcome. We looked after each other," he admitted honestly.

The king looked at him, a small smile quirking his lips as his eyes glanced over at his wife. "As it should be."

David moved closer to his girls and looked over the little band. "I've recruited another ally to our cause," he said with a small smile.

"Who?" asked Emma with excitement.

David whistled softly. A Dalmatian came bounding out of the forest, tongue lolling happily from his mouth.

"Pongo!" shrieked Emma with delight. She got down on her knees in front of the dog, narrowly missing being licked on the face.

Pinocchio knelt beside her, patting the black and white dog enthusiastically.

"Where did you find him?" asked Snow.

"A couple of hikers found him at the edge of a ravine. He was kind of beat-up, lots of burrs in his coat. He looked he hadn't eaten in ages." He lowered his voice, eyes falling on the children. "I wanted to make sure he'd make it, before I showed him to Emma."

Snow squeezed his hand, smiling at Emma's glee.

"I'm so glad you found him. I wonder where he's been?"

"I don't know. Andrew was keeping the dogs kenneled. He was afraid they would be hurt during the battle. It looks like the animals were as separated by the curse as the rest of us. I haven't seen any sign of Perdita or the pups."

Snow frowned, looking at the dog happily wagging his tail. "Don't tell the children that. Emma loved those puppies so much. Remember when she kept trying to sneak them in bed with her?"

David smiled, remembering their little girl's wide-eyed look of pretend surprise when they heard barking coming from under her pillow. "We're lucky she didn't smother the poor things." Then he sobered abruptly. "I'm sure they're fine. They're just…someplace else."

Snow nodded reluctantly, "That seems to be the case with most everything else," she admitted.

"Mama, can we keep him at home?" Emma asked eagerly.

"No honey, that would look suspicious. It makes more sense for Papa to have Pongo, since he works at the animal shelter."

Emma's mouth turned down as she looked unhappily at Pongo.

David picked her up and cuddled her to him. "What's the matter? Don't you think I can take good care of Pongo?"

Emma buried herself into his shoulder. "I know you can Papa. I just missed having a dog." Then her face brightened. "But it's okay. This way you can have a friend at home too."

David kissed her cheek. "That's an excellent point, Princess."

Emma squirmed away and returned her attention to Pongo. Pinocchio had coaxed the dog to lay down and was sitting next to him, stroking his fur in a soothing manner.

Snow drew David six feet further from the children. She spoke in a hushed tone, "I've been thinking about this for awhile. I have an idea."

David raised an eyebrow.

"I've been watching Emma a lot."

"Of course."

"I think…I think she might have magic."

David looked at her incredulously. "How could Emma have magic? We don't know magic, and this world has no magic."

Snow shrugged, "I have no explanation for it David. I don't necessarily have proof either. Right now…it's more like a feeling."

"Like how we felt around Rumpelstiltskin?" David looked alarmed.

"No…" Snow's brow furrowed. "More like how we felt around Blue. But different from that too."

David looked from his wife, to his daughter, and back to his wife. His face reflected his anxiety. Magic was definitely of their world, but it had a way of complicating their lives. To have his daughter…

Snow touched his elbow. "It's more than that."

"How?"

"I was thinking about how the curse…well, how it_ fractured_ with us…and Emma. I keep turning it over in my mind. Is it because we're her parents, because we were together, because she is magic…all of it? All we know is that the curse didn't fracture when we were separate. We have strong connections with many people here. How can we use that…and Emma…to break the curse?"

David spoke slowly. "You mean…try to keep fracturing the curse? Form…an underground army of sorts? One break at a time?"  
Snow shrugged helplessly, "I don't know. Maybe we'll find a way to split it all at once. But it gives us a place to start."

David nodded. "Yeah…a place to start." A smile twisted his lips. "Right now our army consists of two ex-Royals, two children and a dog."

Snow looked at the giggling children, her recently discharged-from-the-hospital husband, the panting Dalmatian… "battles have been won with less," she said confidently.

"Name two," challenged David, matching her intensity.

"No," said Snow firmly. "You'll just have to have faith."

David's smile this time crinkled the skin around his eyes. He moved closer to his wife, enfolding her against her chest, and leaning down to press his lips to hers. He paused to take a breath and regarded her again. "I can do that," he murmured, and kissed her once more.

Emma watched them from her vantage point on the ground. Then she turned and smiled at Pinocchio, her smile an echo of her father's. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"Ready for what?"

"We're going take back the kingdom."


End file.
